Nightfall
by L9-Aren
Summary: With githyanki on her tail and powerful enemies watching from the Fifth Tower of Luskan, Ny'ren and Webb Mossfield must do their part and take the shard to Neverwinter... or die trying while hidden parties of Neverwinter watch.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This story was written in two parts—one by Robbyl9, one of the most fantastic writers I've ever seen, and myself. Thank you – Aren Kae_

_--_

May it be the shadows call

Will fly away

May it be you journey on

To light the day

When the night is overcome

You may rise to find the sun

Mornie ut ûlien (darkness has come)

Believe and you will find your way

Mornie alantien (darkness has fallen)

A promise lives within you now

-May It Be - Enya

**The High Forest, 20 years pre-Battle of West Harbor**

The night was dark and almost dead of sound. Besides the chirping of nocturnal insects not a single other noise could be heard, making the silence a rather peaceful one. Being quite far from any known settlements the only source of light came from the moon, which shone full and beautiful from behind misty clouds.

With the night the way it was anybody would have little reason to think that this was anything other than normal.

And indeed, unbeknownst to anybody, trouble had already begun to brew among the trees of the High Forest…

--

The night calm suddenly became disrupted by the sound of rustling and rapid breathing. With a look of life or death desperation on her face, a lone woman carrying a basket made her escape from… Something.

From the way she was dressed, she was nothing more than a house girl. She wore a cheaply tailored maid's dress with a pair of muddy brown shoes. Her hair matched her shoes in color but was lower neck length and rather nice for someone demoted to labor.

Her heart pounding, the young woman tried to collect herself against a tree. She was sure that whatever had been chasing her must be reasonably behind her by now, at least enough to rest.

_I must think. He cannot be allowed to do this! _She thought looking down into the basket. _My only hope will be to seek solace among the elves. They will turn me away at first, but I can show them what…_

She wouldn't have time to finish her thought, as the break of a twig snapped her to her senses and back to her feet. On pure adrenaline alone, the woman was on the run again through the trees. The further she ran the thicker the trees seemed to get, frightening her and frustrating her at the same time.

For a brief moment she was able to calm her panicking mind to think about the importance of her task. Her eyes accustomed more to the dark and she dodged carefully around the trees before her while keeping a quick pace.

Thinking that she had made good enough evasion once again, the woman slowed down to listen for the rustling sounds which pursued her. Nothing...

But that all changed when a dagger struck the tree next to her, mere inches from her face and sending her racing through the trees again.

Her pursuit through the trees was not to keep much longer, she could tell. She was long exhausted, lost in a thicket of trees and trying to run in a peasant's dress to boot. "Oh Goddess." she began to pray through breaths "See me through to your arms, let not my soul be taken by evil."

--

Finally, it came to an end. Out of nowhere, a blast of green fire erupted from the ground underneath the escaping maid, exploding with great force. She flew through the air and into a tree, making a sickening crack on impact. She rolled onto her back, screaming in pain.

She could still feel her extremities and they all hurt like torture. Dripping down her face was a mixture of sweat and dirt, smeared with blood.

Concerned for nothing more, she used the last of her depleted energy to look in the direction of her basket. Thankfully it had landed in the brush and sustained a far more fortunate impact by comparison and the pile of rags inside did not seem disturbed. A smile formed at the edges of her mouth.

The sound of boots landing from up high made her look back up.

And there he was. The very man she had feared would be the one to chase her down. He loomed over her for a few seconds before stomping down on her broken shoulder with all his force, eliciting a scream. "Hello, peasant human." a venomous voice hissed from under the hood "We meet again at last."

"You're too late, Kissk." The maid responded defiantly, in spite of the pain.

"I beg to differ. It is you who it is too late for."

"He's going to find out your intentions eventually. You won't succeed."

"I will. And you will not stop me."

Using one hand to un-hood himself, Kissk drew one of his daggers from his coat. Pressing it against her throat, he leaned in close. So that she could see the evil taint in his eyes and feel the tip of his forked tongue flicking uncomfortably against her bloody cheek.

"However. You have presented me with an opportunity. One heir will be much easier to kill than two." Kissk's eyes squinted and he grinned evilly "So as thanks, human. Say goodbye." Without a second's hesitation more, he opened his mouth to reveal large fangs. He forced her head to one side and dug them into her neck, hissing terribly as he did it.

Instantly, the venom began to flow and penetrate the young maid's body. She could feel it moving, everywhere it hit becoming instantly numb. Within seconds the maid was overcome by tremors and felt her limbs tighten to paralysis. The venom flowed freely through her for about a minute or so until it reached her eyes. The maid's final living visions blurred out of focus and her final breath was forced from her lips.

"A shame, peasant." Kissk finally said "You were always my favorite one."

_Now, onward to business_, he thought getting back upright and starting toward the basket. The maid wasn't the only one who knew the significance of its true cargo. Kissk knew that what lay inside of that basket was the key to his future as ruler of the Yuan-ti clan to which he belonged.

For years he had toiled endlessly under his master's thumb to get where he was at his master's right hand. Now, he saw his chance to surpass his old master and challenge his rule. And his master would never see it coming. The relentless hunter peeled the rags aside one by one uncovering the peaceful, sleeping form of a baby girl.

This was the one which stood in the way of his coming rule in the clan. For a moment, Kissk reflected on how dangerous the life of this one was to his plans. She had one sibling but that son was born weak and it was a wonder the master had managed to conceive either of them at his age. This child on the other hand appeared perfect. By Yuan-ti standards she would someday become fit to rule.

But not anymore. And when the master died and passed the mantle down, Kissk would send his son right after.

But before he could end the baby's life an arrow flew through the air and caught his robe at the shoulder, pinning him to the tree behind him. Within seconds, a hail of arrows was headed in his direction.

Kissk broke away and hurled daggers from his belt as he tried to stay out of the line of fire. But they had the high ground and were well hidden in the trees. It wasn't long before the wood elves in the trees had him on the run.

He knew he had to take care of the baby himself, though. Taking cover behind a tree, he opened his hand and charged up another green fireball. But just a split second before he released it, an arrow unexpectedly came from a different direction than the others and struck him square in the arm.

The fireball misfired and landed beside the basket, catching the brush on fire. Kissk decide that was close enough and beat a hasty retreat out the forest, disappearing in a cloud of black smoke.

--

The elves had jumped from their perches on the treetops and began giving chase.

"He was one man. Yuan-ti." One of the guards said to the senior archer who had just arrived.

"Track him as far as you are able. Capture him if possible." The archer responded, looking around.

The sound of high-pitched screaming and crying caught his attention. That was the unmistakable sound of a baby. When the archer rushed over to pluck her from the basket, the fire had spread through the brush and was just licking at the basket.

"By the Deities…" he whispered, holding her in his arms.

"Captain, you'd better look at this!" a guard exclaimed, holding up a note sewn to the maid's dress.

The note was smudged from being in the dirt but it read:

_Her name is Tasha. Take care of her and teach her to love. She is more than she appears._

And at the bottom of the note was the symbol of Angarradh, the Elven goddess of Fertility. Neither the captain nor his subordinate knew what to make of this, but they both agreed that this was a matter best left to the village elders.

When it was concluded that the Yuan-ti intruder had thoroughly covered his tracks, the guards returned to their posts. The captain, meanwhile, took the child to seek the council of the village elders. After being alone with the child for the longest time and taking many hours into the morning for deliberation, they reached their decision.

--

"We have peered into this child's mind and seen secrets which could have consequences if revealed at the wrong time." The first elder told the captain.

"It has been determined that she is to be raised as one of our own until she comes of age, at which point she will venture to discover her true identity." said the second one.

"Until such a time, she is to be left in the care of Utûlien Y'leni. That is all." The last one finally spoke, holding Tasha out to the captain.

The captain bowed his head in respect and took the sleeping child into his arms again. It was decided; the Yuan-ti child already thought to be an abomination by many of the gossiping townsfolk was to grow up in the care of the most renowned fencer and duelist in the village.

"The next two decades are going to be trying on everyone…"

The captain exited the council house and made his way toward Utûlien's apprenticeship hall.

--

**Abandoned dwarven halls near Neverwinter – 9 years pre-Battle of West harbor**

This deep in the mountains, there were no stars to relieve the night's gloom, no constellations to make the black skies more alien. The air above—for it was air, not actual sky—was an inky fog of dark, jutting stalagmites that dripped condensation from their points to make an eery echo the rebounded in the underground labrynth. It never failed to make Sabrae Telcho feel more than a little lost and alone.

The Council of Eleven had retreated to the abandoned dwarven mines nearest to Neverwinter to conclave, and ever since meeting them here Sabrae had been wondering whether this dark corner of the Sword Coast would become their tomb. Like most good secret hiding places, it felt safe and secure… to dwarves. They had carved their tunnels too low for her liking, giving her the irrefutable idea that she was trapped in a box—a box that was squeezing her, drawing tighter, tighter, and tighter.

She knew the Council would never leave the safe halls, not while Lord Nasher rested within. She knew in her heart of hearts that Hasafer and Jae had failed, though. The fact that they had given no notice of their arrival through the amulets hanging around their necks was testament to that.

Several of the Council was already gathered in a table behind her, holding an impromptu status report with Master Fuller, Master Rider, and the recently-elevated Master Yuda in admittance—the Big Three. Not for the first time in her life, Sabrae wondered whether she could ever live up to their legend, how she could possibly impact the Sword Coast as they had during their long and illustrious lives.

"…and are we sure that there were none _missing_ from the Greycloak roster in the timeframe around the attack?" Raijah, a half-elf, was asking. "Even if they aren't palace guards, they _do_ have access to the Blacklake District."

Not wishing to involve herself in the conversaion until she was invited—or at least until the time was right—Sabrae kept her back to the table and continued to stare around the edges of their meeting room: an old dwarven mess hall, lit by a snake of fire Raijah had conjured for them.

"This might have been Captain Torfiss' play," Raijah continued. Captain Torfiss of the Greycloaks that guarded Neverwinter wasn't a much-liked personality within the Council. They had alternate groups of Nighthawks stalk him day and night, watching for the bribes they knew he must be taking under the table.

"Could be," said the tiefling beside her, who was staring at the fire as if it were something vaguely interesting. The only other girl on the Council besides Sabrae, Abigail was probably one of the most opinionated of them all. "Maybe all Torfiss did was streamline whoever it was's decision-making process."

Nobody laughed. Only a week ago had the last call come from their amulets—an emergency beckon, alerting them to the detrimental health of one of the Big Three: Hashasi. He'd been Fuller's second-in-command, though not anymore. An assassin had walked casually through ranks of Greycloaks, armored palace guards, and Neverwinter Nine before their Nighthawk companion had realized that this assassin was a threat. It had come to a private fight, or maybe the assassin had snuck up behind them—either way, when Abigail and Ach-Kay had found him, they'd found him in pieces.

Hasafer, a fourth-ranking Master in the Council to Sabrae's fifth, had taken upon the case with Master Jae, a moon elf with a talent for reading between the lines… and they hadn't found anything. Jae's normally cheerful face looked morose in the firelight.

After a long pause in the conversation, Fuller said, "I don't think it matters if Torfiss let anybody in Blacklake unsupervised. The fact that we have these many issues about his loyalty should be good enough to take if out of a seat of power as a suspect in investigation."

"And tip off the assassin," Raijah said.

"If there is indeed a corpreal assassin," Abigail pointed out, holding up one finger. "I'm not convinced it _wasn't,_ and I know there were no demons in the room or else I'd smell them. I've made my own inquiries on the case, and Thorfinn Ranolf was hired out to a rich baker just some time ago. Remember, the summoner? Nobody knew where he was at the time of the assassination. He could have set a monster on Hashasi."

"A monster that doesn't eat the remains," Jae said hotly. "Oh, wonderful, Abigail, really."

Another pause in the conversation. The Masters looked at each other, and Jae seemed to realize that he'd said the wrong thing. Abigail didn't let it deter her: "You know as well as I do that the monsters you summon don't eat the remains, Jae Barkly. And you know perfectly well not all of them leave bite marks, either."

"I know," he muttered. "It's just…"

"Tiring," Fuller said. "Frustrating. Yes, I know. Hasafer, Jae, go to sleep."

It was hard to disagree with a man older than your grandmother. Fuller was six-foot-six, a monster of a man, and his face was both young and old. His dark, dark eyes seemed to bore into what he looked at, scanning it and looking for possible threats. His black, midnight hair was messy and looped into an easy ponytail, but the gray around his temples and in his beard on his young, young face was perhaps the most telling feature of all. Fuller had been given immortality by the gods, a process, he said, that few have the right to go to. Sabrae could still remember him when he came to her home and took her away for seeing dead people: he'd given off a fatherly affection, then. It was disconcerting to see the affection turn into a laser-lock fierceness when he was upset—and she knew he was upset.

Jae didn't dare be flippant with the old Master. He looked around the table for support, and when none came he stood. "Thank you, Master," he said quietly. Hasafer joined him on his way out.

They waited until their footsteps were out of their hearing range before Rider, a burnished tan wild elf with blue eyes, stood up almost casually and walked towards the entrance without a sound. He checked the hallways and gave Fuller a short nod. For the first time, Sabrae could see his face: it was set in an emotion she couldn't guess at, though he seemed deeply, deeply troubled.

_He guarded Nasher before Hashasi,_ Sabrae reasoned. _He probably feels guilty that he didn't notice anything out of place before._

When Rider took his place next to Yuda—a large, bulky earth genasi—Sabrae realized just how many people were missing from their meeting. It was only the Big Three, Jae and Hasafer, herself, Abigail, and Raijah, though Hasafer and Jae were gone now. Houston, Ach-Kay, and her rival Jacoby Giles were on alternating shifts guarding the Lord Nasher as he slept alongside three Neverwinter Nine who had been recalled from duties.

Sabrae stepped to the corner of the table closest to Abigail. "If I may, I'd like to express an opinion."

Fuller turned to her with an air of attentiveness, but everyone else seemed taken aback. Abigail's jaw fell, Yuda's gaze grew more penetrating, and the brows of several of the Masters rose in shock. During her tenure with the Nighthawks, Sabrae had hardly cultivated the reputation of someone who might follow proper procedure.

"You're requesting permission to talk to us?" Rider asked. For once, his brown hair was neatly trimmed, his robes unwrinkled. "_Sabrae Telcho?"_

"That's right." Sabrae checked her posture, drawing herself up straight and formal. "I think it's important."

Rider looked to his right and gripped Fuller's elbow in a consoling manner. "I don't know what happened over there at Luskan, but I'll help you hunt down the barve that did it."

"I figured we could all use some humor here," Sabrae said dryly. "Working in a stressed atmosphere gives me headaches, honestly."

"So tell us how we may alleviate that," Fuller said.

"There is no chance of catching the assassin now, a week into this," Sabrae began. _I'm not rationalizing, I'm being realistic._ "I think we should keep the search for another seven days, then allow Nasher back into his palace with additional guards."

"And if this blindingly clever maneuver gets our Lord Nasher killed?" Rider asked cryptically.

"It won't," she promised. "I propose putting more resources to the stabilization of Castle Never—more than three Nighthawks assigned to the city as a whole."

"Our resources are short," Abigail said quietly, taking her eyes off of the dancing flames conjured by Raijin to look her in the eyes. Her bright, vivid blue ones charicteristic of her race bored into her own with the power of one with celestial ancestry. "You say we place Nasher's safety above those of every citizen of the Sword Coast."

"No, that would be wrong," Sabrae said. "I'd object to it—and do—on moral principle alone. But the right to guard Neverwinter _and _Castle Never by Masters has made this happen. Hashasi proved that we aren't infallible. Hashasi proved we needed help. I propose that half of the Old Guard be taken off active duty and divide them into citywide security and the protection of his Lordship."

The Masters frowned thoughtfully, and surprisingly it was Yuda who said, "Good idea."

"I agree," Raijah said quietly. "We can't have another Hashasi on our hands."

"And we can't stay with Nasher for the rest of his life," Abigail pointed out. "Alright, alright, I'm game."

"Master Fuller?" Rider asked.

Fuller looked into her eyes for a moment, closed them, and nodded. Sabrae congratulated herself on part one of her plan—knowing part two would be a bit harder. "So why don't you tell us what's really on your mind?"

Sabrae nodded, then summoned to mind the speech she had been rehearsing as they talked. "As you all know, the day Lord Nasher was attacked and Hashasi killed, West Harbor was the endpoint for a war that could have easily taken the lives of many. The King of Shadows and Ammon Jerro perished. Ten years ago, Esmerelle Vollen retired from service and migrated there. Since then she's had a child, Ny'ren, with an unknown father… and during the battle for West Harbor, Esmerelle was killed by the King of Shadows himself."

She paused, allowing that to sink in. The Big Three didn't blink at the news—apparently they had been informed as she was, probably by that refugee that came from the town. Duncan Farlong. "Esmerelle was a fine woman," Fuller said quietly.

"I've seen her daughter once," Raijin said thoughtfully. "How old is she now? Ten?"

"Too young to be involved in battles and death," Rider said bitterly. "I can't stand it."

Sabrae cleared her throat. "I know, Masters. I think we should send somebody to pick the girl up. She's traumatized, living with a man who's just lost his _wife._ It's no place for a girl to grow up. I'd like to bring her to live with my brother, where she can have a stable family life. We owe it to Esmerelle."

_Post-mortem payment. _She shook the thought aside. It was what _she_ would want for her children.

"You want our permission to adopt the child of a former Nighthawk," Abigail said. "Now _there's_ something I've never seen before. Why are you asking _us?_ It's not even your personal life—it's your brother's, and it's Ny'ren's."

"I need opinions."

Fuller frowned and glanced over at Yuda. "Do you agree with this?"

Yuda nodded. "War is no place for a child."

"Rider?"

The elf took a longer time to respond. "No."

The answer surprised them all. They descended into cold silence. Sabrae was outraged: a little girl, ten years old, didn't _deserve _to be in a rotten, lizard-man infested _hole. _She was about to open her mouth to object, but Fuller shot her a warning look. The look said, _Back off._

She knew enough of her former mentor to listen to him.

"Why?" Raijah asked. He said up a bit straighter, incredulous. "Rider, can't you see—"

"Of course I see," Rider snapped. "But Ny'ren is not our concern now, and she would be far safer in the swamps than she would be in Neverwinter City Docks with your brother, Sabrae."

Sabrae turned to Master Fuller. "What about you?" she asked, a note of pleading in her voice. "_You've _met her, too—"

"My opinion is the same as Rider's," Fuller said quietly. Sabrae swallowed the rebuttal rising in her throat and conceded, sitting back down. "I'm sorry."

_Not as sorry as I am,_ she thought. _Not nearly as sorry as I am…_

The Council continued their deliberations, but they were much less heated than before. It seemed everybody, including Fuller, was preoccupied over the issue of a ten-year-old girl, far away from their problems and their life, and what she had to be going through.


	2. Chapter 2

**West Harbor**

The small swamp-town of West Harbor had recovered well from its' near-destruction nearly a decade ago; the houses had been rebuilt, the bones of the undead had been swallowed by the swamp, and their own dead had been taken care of. Funerals had been held, and Neverwinter Greycloaks gave them a surplus of funds to make up for the temporarily rotten land. Eventually they became self-sufficient again, though they didn't quite lose their habit of praying to the grain goddess Chauntea each morning before breakfast. Now the town barely looked as if it came so close to a deathly experience—it was bright and cheery, and not a cloud specked the sky.

Across the Harborman River (actually, more of a tributary in her opinion) Ny'ren Vollen was putting her back into her work. She dug the plow into the ground with more force than her small petite body seemed capable of handing out, digging it hard into the dirt and making the land softer to come in and plant the wheat and vegetables afterwards. Sweat beaded on her honey-colored face, trickling down to the end of her nose. It hung there, tickling her for just a moment, and fell on to the wooden handle of the plow.

A sudden uproar of noise distracted her from what she was doing for just a moment; over the bridge connecting her father's land to the rest of the village, a cheer had just gone up, and she could see why—a huge eyesore of a tent had just been erected, a bright yellow with vibrant red stripes.

Ny stared at it for a moment, her elf eyes wincing as she did so, and continued with her plow.

That same tent had been erected once a year for nine years in a transparent attempt to make the upcoming Festival more cheerful. In some ways she agreed with the idea—she'd only been ten when the King of Shadows had attacked and left his dark stain on her childhood. By then the only thing she knew how to do was hold a plow and hunt things in the wild, and that didn't save her from the King's final attack—it hadn't even saved her mother, who'd been an adventurer long before. The four challenges held during the Harvest Fest were supposed to 'keep young minds sharp,' as Georg said. Considering the fact that she'd never won all four challenges before, or even three, Ny had to say that they were indeed challenging.

She wondered if her mother would've ever had trouble with it…

_Don't think about it_, she chided herself. _You're over it. You're _over_ it._

And she was, mostly. She didn't exactly enjoy living with Daeghun, but she'd gotten over that, too.

She glanced over at him, bent down in his own labors with the till on the other half of their small farm. A wood elf, he'd been a recluse even before the attack. He'd become quiet and withdrawn, deep in his own depression that would never lift. He wasn't the type of man that could offer any consoling to a little girl, nor the love she had craved for so long. He was a figure in her life, to be sure—more of a guardian than a surrogate father. Brother Merring had filled in that role for her, and friends like Amie and Bevil had filled it even more.

But it was still empty.

"So do you have to do the Archery Competition again?" Ny asked, leaning against the plow and resting her tired arms.

She knew the answer, of course, but she'd made up a game with herself when she was twelve that she'd make more smalltalk with Daeghun in hopes to draw him out of his shell… so far it wasn't working. Asking normal, blunt questions she already knew about probably agitated him as much as his answers agitated her. "The Village Council requires me to do so," Daeghun said, and she'd known him long enough to tell he wasn't exactly happy with that.

She nodded and didn't say anything. She was still panting from the hard work—she'd been pushing it double-time so she could hang out with Amie and Bevil sooner than usual and help set up the Festival. She could envision Bevil already working harder with his chores, but Tarmas, the wizard that took her in when her parents died in the attack years ago, had probably let Amie roam free and help set up. She was probably one of the people in the crowd that had put up the tent.

Ny couldn't help but smile when her suspicions were confirmed—Amie's long, wheat-colored braid could be seen in the distance. It disappeared as she turned around, facing the Farlong farm. She waved cheerfully, and Ny waved back.

_The Harvest Fair is tomorrow,_ she thought, digging the plow once more into the swampy soil. _It'll be fun._

As long as she didn't think about her mother, or Shayla, or the billions of things that occurred a day less than nine years ago.

--

A typical day at the Farlong farm went as followed: Ny awoke at dawn to an empty household, had a small breakfast of whatever they could scrounge up, and she'd go outside and work until late afternoon. Daeghun would come in periodically to check up on her, but he mostly seemed absorbed in things beyond the borders of the small town. When she was smaller, before the attack, she used to think he was running secret messages to Lord Nasher, all of the varying self-centered subjects that little girls stranded in a small town desperately dreamed of. Time had matured her and showed her the truth, however--in fact, when she asked him about it, he'd told her: he kept tabs on the lizardman tribes, watched for attackers, and guided merchants on their way in.

As far from an inglorious life as she could fathom.

Today, however, she'd really put her back into her work and Daeghun had done half of it for her. She was done by early afternoon, so she decided to take a small bath in a secluded path in the woodlands. The water was just right, favorably warm and free of insects or dead animals. She finished, wringing out her hair of sweat and allowing herself a few more moments of peaceful serenity before dressing herself once again in the hard, padded leather common to all Harbormen.

Back in the village, Bevil and Amie were already waiting for her. They'd come in and made themselves right at home--which told her right then and there that Daeghun had run off again. Bevil, a dignified-looking man with a kind square face and squarer shoulders, lay on the floor in front of the cold fireplace using his hands as pillows while Amie, her enthusiasm barely contained, jumped from her spotter's place at the window to greet Ny as she came in.

"Are all your chores done?" Bevil asked, getting to his feet.

Ny nodded, smiling a little--Amie's good mood was infectious. "Yeah. Do you guys want anything to eat, or should we get going?"

She read the answer in their faces. Shaking her head with the air of somebody deeply amused by the nuances in life, she looked around for anything she might need, convinced herself there were none, and followed her friends into the bright Harborman day.

It was as she'd seen it from the fields: bright and bustling groups of three or more, all taking a day off from their own work to set up the tents. From the distance, her elf-eyes spotted Tarmas the Wizard painstakingly setting up his own tent of varying shades of blue. Cows were mooing insistently as Brother Merring, with the help of Pierson, dragged them back into their stalls. She could even see Georg in the distance, setting up bottles for the Archery Contest.

The one thing she noticed, though, in absence of all else, was the sudden spike in population around the village. "It's busier than usual," she muttered to herself. "Wonder why that is?"

Bevil was walking as he talked, and she hurried to keep up with his much longer strides. "Biggest fair since the one where Cormick dusted Lorne five years back," he said excitably.

"I'll say," Ny replied, flabbergasted. "I don't see many caravans, though..."

"Folk are in from all the outlying farms," Amie supplied. "I've got all my allowance saved up to buy some new spells from Galen. Can you believe it? He actually said he'd bring in a scroll to summon a bear!"

"I remember," Ny said wryly. "_Vividly."_

It was all Amie talked about after Galen's last visit, and she understood why--Amie had dreams of becoming a powerful mage when she was older. She wanted to go outside the swamp village and explore all four corners of Faerun there and back again, and the only way to make sure she was prepared was to learn as much as she could. She devoured any mystical teachings from Tarmas almost ravenously. In some ways, Ny envied her--at least she had something she could better herself in. True, all her farmwork would probably pay off in the later end, but Ny wanted to see _trees. _She wanted to go out into the woods with Aren and just spend some time with her friend.

A small smile came to her lips at the thought of Aren, her familiar. She was almost bigger than Ny herself, but that was probably because she was a bear. Ny had no doubt that she was a bit bigger than most of the other bears, though. Her fur coat was dark, honey-colored brown like her master's hair, and she even had the same, bright blue eyes as she did. Aren was a tribute to bears out there, able to understand human speech and had a fierce loyalty to those Ny herself did, too.

It was too bad she could bring Aren with her wherever she wanted to go... people were spooked so easily nowadays.

It turned out there wasn't much they could do to help out, because most of everybody had already taken care of it. Instead, the three got a table at the Cow & Corset and ordered an ale each. Ny leaned back in her chair, sipping the foaming mead, and looked out the window. "You know," she said thoughtfully, "this is the last year we'll be able to compete."

"I know," Bevil said gloomily. "We'll have to go out with a bang, though. We should at least win the Tourney of Talent, though. And with you on our side the Knaves' Challenge shouldn't be too hard."

"I'm more worried about the Mossfields," Amie said quietly, gesturing to a table in the corner, well away from the others. The three Mossfield brothers--incidentally, three of the people Ny hated most in this small town besides the King of Shadows--were downing their own mead with the air of dehydrating wolverines, making loud raunchous jokes that she could hear even at their table. Wyl, Ward, and Webb were about all the same height and shape, but they'd taken drastically different hairstyles. Wyl's was shaved close to his head, and Webb's hung in front of his eyes; Ward went for a mohawk. Even from a distance, even the most blatant observer could see the vindictive aura that hung around their well-muscled bodies.

"Me, too," Bevil replied grimly. Ny didn't blame him--they'd hung him over a well by his ankles when he was ten, and ever since he's refused to go near one with them around, even nine years later.

"It won't be too bad," Ny said, throwing one last look over at the Mossfields. "Brother Merring's refereeing, like always."

"Thank the gods," Bevil muttered.

"No magic, either," Amie muttered. "Only those wooden sticks..."

"Would you rather fight them without it?" Ny countered.

Amie shook her head. "No, are you kidding? I only wish that wooden stick had a few more thorns attached."

Ny nodded absently, her mind already far from the conversation. She watched the preparations for the fair taking place, and sipped her mead.

"You know," Amie said after a long, quiet pause, "I actually had a dream last night."

"Oh?"

"What was it about?"

Amie set down her mug, tracing its' contours with a finger. "It was... weird," she said lamely, all traces of former happiness gone. "I saw you two... but you kept turning away. You kept leaving, and I couldn't follow you. It was like you guys weren't my friends anymore."

Bevil blinked. "That's not a very good dream, Amie."

"And it's not accurate," Ny said, glancing at her blonde-headed friend. She was looking away from them, her face screwed up in concentration as she remembered the dream, and Ny had the feeling she wasn't tell them the entirety of it. "Wow... you were really freaked out by it, weren't you?" she asked softly, concerned.

"A little," Amie said, taking a deep breath. Ny had no doubt that Amie would've woken up crying because of the dream--her parents had died in the attack, too, when she was only six. She still had some serious abandonment issues going on.

"Must've been nice... waking up after that and realizing tomorrow's the Harvest Fair," Ny teased. "I saw you out there putting up Georg's tent."

"Oh great," Bevil muttered over his mead. "Look out."

Ny'ren turned to regard the new threat in the form of the Mossfields, all walking steadily towards their table. "Let them talk first," she muttered, before they reached hearing distance.

They were in no doubt heading for them. Ny blinked her large blue eyes in their direction, amused at their swagger. _You're going down, Mossfields,_ she thought, and felt a vicious pleasure at the mental image of driving her club hard into the back of Wyl's hairless head.

Wyl pulled up a chair and sat beside her, grinning lewdly in Amie's direction. "Too bad you're stuck with these losers, orphan-girl," he drawled. "You might have a better chance if the giant loaf wasn't on your team."

"Was there something you wanted, Mossfield?" Bevil asked in a passable neutral tone, but Ny could hear the vindictiveness underneath.

"Just wanted to tell you guys," Webb said smugly, putting a hand on the back of Wyl's chair, "that we can't _wait_ for the Brawl."

"Good," Amie said coolly. "Because we can't wait, either."

Wyl snorted. "I doubt anybody would think of hurting _you_, now," he said softly, reaching to stroke her cheek. "Of course, we're not anybody--"

The rest of his sentence was lost in a garbled squeak--as soon as his skin had hit Amie's face, Ny lashed out, spraying the mouthful of mead she'd recently sipped into the man's face. Amie stood up quickly, retreating behind Bevil's seat on the other side of the Mossfields. Ward and Webb moved faster than Ny would've thought possible, pinning her small elfin body to the wall by her throat. Almost simultaneously, Ny raised both legs to kick them in the groin and missed. "Gerrofome!" she grunted, struggling nearly a foot off of the ground.

Then Bevil was there, pulling Webb by the hair and pulling him back. All the while, the bar keep shouted, "Break it up, break it up!"

Ward released Ny, giving her a loathsome stare. "You don't get to touch us, _elf,_" he spat.

"Then the mongrel better not touch Amie again, or I swear by Tyr I will cut off your--"

"I said break it up, didn't ye hear a word what I said?!" The barkeep, Fenmaril, got in between them and herded the Mossfields away. "Keep it for the Brawl!" he all but bellowed. He rounded on Ny. "If I catch you instigatin' a fight ever again you will be _banned_ from this place, _do you understand me?"_

"He touched Amie," she growled, her own temper rising up.

"Then let her take care of it, ye damned elf," he cried. "For cryin' out loud, I thought ye had a better head on than this!"

"_Wyl_ instigated it!" She could feel her face turning red.

"And you responded!"

"Oh, for a minute ago I thought you said _I _instigated it," she retorted.

There was a hand on her shoulder, soft and light. "Come on, it's not worth it, Ny," Amie muttered.

"Yeah, you better leave!" Webb called towards their retreating backs, and Ny could hear the barkeep beginning to heckle them, too.

"It wasn't worth it," Amie kept muttering. "Now we've made them mad for sure."

"Big deal."Ny stopped suddenly and whirled around to look at her two best friends. "After the Fest, we're out of here. We're prepared enough. We'll go everywhere, like we always said we would. There is no better time!"

"Ny?" Bevil's voice was incredulous. "Think about what you're saying."

"That's the problem," she said. "We've thought and thought about this. It's time to _go._" She was beginning to draw stares, so she herded them down to Harborman River. _It's still a tributary,_ she thought, glaring at the stream. "Don't tell me you guys don't agree. Please don't."

"Ny... just think. If we left after the Fair, we'd be leaving my mom here, all alone..." Bevil began halfheartedly. "And I don't think she wants another kid to leave the house after Lorne."

"I haven't even finished my studies here," Amie added. "Ny, I really, really want to go, but can't we just wait?"

"After the fair," Ny said quietly, "we'll just be stuck here in the same rut everybody else is. We need to go now, before we start thinking of the life back _here._" She looked at them. "Our lives aren't _here._"

Bevil and Amie hesitated. "Give me two weeks," the latter said carefully. "I'll try to learn as much as I can in those few days."

"Bevil?" Ny asked.

He swallowed visibly. "Okay," he said, sounding as if he couldn't even believe he was saying it. "O-Okay. I'll come with you."

"Two weeks," Amie warned, holding up two fingers. "Don't go running off without us before then."

"Two weeks it is," Ny'ren said happily, and for the first time that day she was well and truly happy.


	3. Chapter 3

**West Harbor**

As was always the case this time of year, the people of West Harbor were fast at work preparing down to the very last minute. Men, woman, children and their dogs were all doing their part. The people were perfectly content to continue working to make the perfect harvest fair when one carpenter's eye was caught by something emerging from the wetlands.

As the carpenter worked diligently repairing a broken table for the pub, the dark-hooded figure walked up to him.

"Can I, um… Help you?" the carpenter asked, scratching his neck.

"I certainly hope so, sir." The hooded woman whispered with the faintest essence of a hiss "I'm looking for someone."

The carpenter gulped, something definitely seemed wrong about this woman.

"Erm, well. I know lots of people. Who do you need?"

It didn't take long for more people to start wondering about her. From across the way, a citizen watched as she leaned in and whispered something into the carpenter's ear. When she leaned back out and he shook his head, the rumors began to fly.

_She's a thief, she's a dark mage, he owes her money, he made an oath and owes his soul._ These and much more entertaining and ridiculous versions came pouring out of the people's mouths.

Then, the carpenter pointed toward the fairgrounds and told her to look over in that area. And as quickly as the hooded woman entered, she left, stringing along dozens of prying eyes after her. She casually strolled along toward the fairgrounds and quickly became lost in all the commotion.

--

There was a brutal truth about fights—brawls, they called them—that rung true even in the wild swamplands outside of West Harbor: there were no fancy moves, no places to rest, and any fight lasting over three minutes was already lost. Ny'ren felt that truth deep in her bones now, her mind strangely blank as she studied her three opponents warily, Bevil and Amie on either side of her.

She slid to the left, to Ward's side, leaving Bevil to take Wyl. Amie would have to fight Webb, but there was nothing they could ever have done about her lackluster fighting skills anyway.

Size was a matter of concern, too. She was small and dainty, though years of tough farm work had given her some muscular definition. All three of the Mossfield brothers were _big_—big and strong. Ny took a deep, calming breath, willing herself not to cower at the sight of their overdeveloped pectoral muscles. If they _sat _on her she'd be diced meat…

Brother Merring raised the red flag in the air, stained with the years. "Ready… _Brawl!"_

The Mossfields' rushed.

Ny soon lost Bevil and Amie in the sudden onslaught of blows. She could only concentrate on getting out of Ward's long reach and avoid the bone-breaking punches he was dishing out. His foot came up to kick her in the stomach; she moved only slightly out of the way. She grabbed his ankle and pushed up, bringing him off balance. He fell to the ground head-first.

Amie's squeal of pain from her right distracted her for enough precious seconds that Ward could get his fingers around her ankle.

_If he brings me to the ground I won't be able to win._

She dropped to the ground like a sack of flour, kicking out with her legs as she did so. She could feel the crack of bone underneath her boots, knew she'd struck a vital area, and kicked three more times before Ward could get his bearings. She used his slackened grip to her advantage, rolling backwards and out of harm's way.

_Bam!_

Ny crumpled to the ground under the impact, and Wyl leapt on her. An animal scream, and he was punching every part of her he could reach. She refused to cry out in pain, and focused on getting her hand free from underneath his body. She used two fingers to hook his nostrils and pull him towards her and into a headbutt, leaving them both dazed.

Wyl jerked on top of her, and then Bevil was there, kicking his ribs to get him off of her. Brother Merring stepped in the ring, disbanding the match.

Wyl was out.

They were given a few minutes' respite, and Ny, breathing hard, focused on assessing her team's state. Bevil's face was going to swell later on, and two twin trails of blood ran unstopping out of Amie's nose. Ny didn't want to know what she looked like.

"Calm, steady breaths," Daeghun's voice said from somewhere behind her, close enough that she could pick it up, but far away enough that it didn't look like he was giving her tips. She relayed his instructions to the two others and tried to follow them to the letter—her fight with Wyl and Ward had left a sheen of sweat on her forehead.

They were right to have left this challenge for last.

Brother Merring finished his administrations on Wyl and stepped back into the ring. He gave them each a long, hard look and said, "I expect a nice, fair game from all of you." He must have heard about their stint in the bar yesterday. Ny was too tired to pretend to feel embarrassed. "Begin again."

Webb and Ward rushed again. Ny and Amie met Webb halfway, knowing the strength of numbers was on their side. Then, to what must have been one of the biggest shocks in Amie's life, Webb delivered a straight, perfect uppercut to her jaw. She fell backwards and lay there.

Amie was out.

The Brawl stopped again. Brother Merring knelt on the field and revived her by trickling a dark red liquid inside her mouth from his hipflask, which Ny immediately recognized as a health potion. She also didn't miss the fact that he still hadn't given any to Wyl, whose ribs must have been hurting.

Amie's eyes blinked open, confused. "Did we win?"

"He got you," Brother Merring said. "Come on, dear, let's get up… 'atta girl. Now just hold on to my shoulder, you'll feel the effects in no time."

They were given another mandatory break to let themselves cool off. Ny took a sip of water to wet her suddenly dry, parched mouth, and listened to Bevil take a larger swig. "Two on two," he muttered, wiping his lips. "Whose the strongest?"

"They're even," Ny replied. _Calm, deep breaths._ "I'll take Webb."

"Watch out—he's learned how to kick."

"I'll avoid it. Thanks for the assist back there, by the way."

Bevil only nodded, wiping the sweat off of his forehead and taking another swig. Brother Merring entered the ring for the second time. Ny noticed that they were starting to draw a crowd. "Begin again."

Nobody rushed this time, but Bevil and Ny were forced to change opponents when Webb angled for the former and Ward stepped in front of the latter. Ny forced her breathing into a calm state, letting herself forget about tactics and forget about concentration—there was only natural instinct and the need to survive this.

She raised her hands in an unarmed fighting stance, keeping as light as she could on her feet in preparation for any swift movement she might have to make. She leaned to the left, and Ward threw an uppercut—flaunting his reach—but missed when Ny just stepped forward in and under his guard to elbow him in the stomach and groin. She turned to the side, missing a knee aiming for her chest. The leg lashed out and turned, trapping her head against his privates and bringing them both down.

Ny let out a feral snarl, wiggling for all she was worth to get out of the hold. He repositioned his legs slightly, blocking the blood flow to her brain. Repulsed by her own actions, Ny tucked her chin deeper into his hold, allowing the blood to flow freely, and let out a choked scream of frustration.

Ward raised himself to a sitting position, still trying to subdue her with his legs, and twisted both of them to the side to resume his stranglehold on her throat. The move left her legs clear and his chest open: he'd forgotten that elves were predisposed to be the most flexible race of Faerun.

She swung her left leg up as hard and as high as it would go, the toe of the boot connecting soundly with his chest. She pivoted on her shoulders, swinging the other leg around to get enough momentum. She broke free of the chokehold and let herself recuperate for a second before bunching the muscles in her legs and jumping at his face.

It worked perfectly.

Ward still hadn't realized she'd twisted out of his hold and twitched violently in surprise when her fingers, bunched up like claws, were suddenly raking his face. She smacked him with a solid elbow strike to the temple, but it still wasn't enough. He twisted around, and suddenly he was on top.

She bit his hand for all she was worth, tasting the dark red blood running down his wrist and into her mouth. It was metallic, so much unlike the meat Retta cooked for dinner. He punched her in the face with his other hand, but she refused to let go, digging even deeper into his flesh.

He was panicking now, she could tell. She felt his fist connect with every open part of her body, struggling to release her hold. _This is for yesterday,_ she thought savagely. For a moment she wondered if she'd bite a large enough chunk out of him for Merring to call it, but Ward broke it with his own frenzied yells. "Get her off of me! Webb! _Webb!_"

She shifted her bite to a larger portion of his wrist, not caring now about the blood running freely from the wound—she only wanted to hurt him. She would never resort to cannibalism.

Brother Merring's voice seemed to come from far away, breaking into her thoughts. "Stop! Stop the match!"

She let go at once, and Ward scrambled off of her, fear and disgust etched on his face. She leaned over and spit his blood into the ground beside her, eager to get _that_ taste out of her mouth. Bevil extended a helping hand to get her up. She stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending, and blinked stupidly. Everything seemed so _slow_.

Then Bevil was kneeling next to her. "Ny? Ny, can you hear me? The match is over."

Oh. _Oh._

Ny gripped his hand in hers, and he pulled her up, frowning a little. Amie gasped, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Daeghun come closer to the fence to get a better look. Brother Merring came over and sat her down, wiping her face with a cloth. "Do you know what I'm saying?" he asked.

"Yes," she muttered, out of breath. "Do you have some water?"

Her canteen was pushed in front of her nose, and she took a long, grateful draught from it. Everything hurt. "Can you keep fighting?" Bevil asked, looking deep into her eyes for confirmation.

"Is Ward?"

"No."

"Then I'll keep fighting."

Merring pursed his lips and shook his head. "Not until she answers a few questions. Do you have a headache?"

"I will later," she hedged. She glanced over at Webb—his face was a bloody mess, his knuckles scraped and bruised. She looked down at her hands and saw the stains there, too. _How far will we go until we kill ourselves?_ She wondered.

"Difficulty breathing?"

Yes. "No…"

"Look, I can take Webb," Bevil said quietly. "All he has to do is sit on you."

_That_ made her angry. "I'm fighting," she retorted. "Just… give me a second."

He blinked, pursed his lips, and nodded. "Brother Merring?"

"I don't see the point in refusing," he muttered wryly. "Okay. Off you go."

He gave them an extra minute to rest up in their corner. Ny and Bevil kept glancing anxiously at each other as the minutes progressed, taking into account each others' wellbeing. Ny knew they should probably try and figure out a way to take Webb down, but somehow even _thinking_ about it hurt… and she knew that it would only hurt worse later.

Brother Merring called the match again, and Webb stayed in his corner, hands on guard, tense and ready. Bevil and Ny spread out on either side of him, keeping him contained in his corner, but Ny stopped suddenly and pulled back, motioning for Bevil to do the same. "He'll fight harder in a corner," she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. "Draw him out."

But Bevil didn't taunt him like she had hoped he would, and Ny didn't want to enrage Webb into an even bigger frenzy. _Come on come on come on come on come on! _She urged him.

Webb almost took a step out—she saw his foot twitch in their direction. But a smile crept across his face, and he shook his head. "Come on, elf," he taunted. "Afraid?"

Ny hissed at him.

Webb cocked his ear to the side, studying them. The smile never left his face. "Too bad you didn't want to use the clubs," he said conversationally. "It's probably the only, heh, _wood_ you'll see in your life, Vollen."

She had a witty comeback… somewhere. She felt her face flush, but she kept her cool, readying herself. "Sun's setting, Webb," she said. "Come out and play like a big boy."

"Afraid to fight after dark, elf?"

"On the contrary." Ny flashed him her own smile, her teeth marred with Ward's blood. She saw Webb's eyes tighten slightly. "The night's _my_ time."

"Says a little girl who'd rather eat us than face us like a good fighter."

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you," Bevil said. "We'll wait here all night, pal."

Ny slid in, motioning for Bevil to stay back. She was now halfway between him and Webb. "I'm all yours, Webb."

He was only three feet away now. Ny felt the disturbance before he even threw the punch, and slid out of the way. He'd expected that, and followed through with an uppercut that connected squarely with her shoulder. His knee followed, then an elbow to the head.

Ny managed to stay upright long enough for Bevil to take over, and took a deep breath, blocking out the pain. She crouched, waiting for Webb's back to be shown—but no, he'd gone back into his corner and Bevil had met him there.

_Wild animals fight better under extreme conditions,_ she recalled.

Oh, well. It was worth a try.

She attacked low, Bevil attacked high—and there was the second mistake she'd made that round. Something hard connected with her chest, she felt herself falling, and then all the pain vanished.

--

She wasn't having a pleasant dream. She was trying to sleep, but people kept coming into her room, bothering her. Daeghun came in more than once, reminding her that Bevil and Amie were coming soon. They were going to help set up the Harvest Fair. She rolled over in her bed, wondering idly if she should get up and get ready when a voice, stronger than all, whispered in her ear:

_Get up, Ny._

It scared her into alertness, and the voices and sounds of the Harvest Fair came back in a frightening suddenness that surprised her. Her eyes blinked open, and she was aware of a great many people surrounding her. She rolled her head back and forth, wondering at the headache throbbing beneath her skin, and counted Brother Merring, Bevil, Amie, and Pitney Lannon among her small audience. She blinked.

Bevil sighed and closed his eyes, and Amie let out a bark of laughter. "Why are you both bleeding?" she asked, a jolt of fear running through her. She sat up too suddenly, and the world twisted and rotated in front of her. Brother Merring caught her before she fell back again. Then she remembered. "Hey, did we win?"

Another bark of laughter from Amie. She took it as a good sign, and it was only confirmed when Brother Merring gave her a soft smile and said, "Yes, you won. Now do me a favor and drink this."

He gave her a canteen, but it wasn't full of water—a health potion. She drunk it gratefully, reveling at the strength that fueled through her limbs. "Thanks," she said, handing it back to him when it was empty. She looked around, suddenly aware. They were outside of the ring, and the Mossfields' were nowhere to be found. "How long was I unconscious?"

"Give or take a few minutes," Amie said, far too excited for her own good. She was literally bouncing on her heels. "We didn't want to choke you with the potion so we decided to wait until you woke up. As soon as Webb kicked you in the fence Bevil gave him a face plant he'll remember for the rest of his life!"

Bevil smiled shyly. "He's prejudiced against elves. He'll probably just blame it on Ny or something."

Speaking of elves… Ny looked around and frowned. "Where's Daeghun?"

"Back at the Archery Competition," Amie said. "He left as soon as he was sure you'd be okay."

She winced. "Figures," she muttered.

"Haven't you realized yet?!"

"What?"

"We _won._"

She blinked. "Oh, we did, didn't we?" Ny frowned thoughtfully. "All four competitions… Hmm."

Amie leaned closer into her face. "You aren't excited?"

"Just trying to imagine the look on Wyl's face when he sees us up there with the trophy."

Brother Merring cleared his throat. "If you all want to go wash up, I will go inform Georg."

"_Should_ we wash up, guys?" Bevil asked when Brother Merring left. "We _could _make a point…"

Amie made a face. "You _both_ need to wash up. I just need to get the blood trail off my face, but you guys have it _bad._"

Bevil looked at Ny and Ny looked at Bevil. From the look on his face, she must've been as just as much of a mess as he was. "I vote we clean up in the river," Ny said. "I need some cold water on my face. Bevil needs a steak, but nothing we can do about that now."

"True," Bevil admitted. "At least _you_ got the health potion."

"Yeah, but did you see them hitting her head the entire time?" Amie asked, making a face. "I was doing a dance when she bit off Ward's hand. Brother Merring had to give _him_ some potions, too."

Ny smirked, enjoying herself. "So what does human blood taste like?" Bevil asked curiously, helping her up into a standing position.

"Not as good as animal blood," she said. "I decided early on I was just going to hurt him—if I bit off a chunk of his hand he might call me a cannibal."

Bevil threw back his head and laughed.

--

Meanwhile amongst all the excitement and jubilation, which had only been amplified by Ny'ren, Bevil, and Amie knocking the three bullies on their backsides, the hooded woman had returned at last. Almost as though she had appeared out of nowhere, she made her way to the front of the crowd.

Even though she had to push her way through, the woman advanced surprisingly quickly. Many of the crowd members even stepped out of her way. Not because they were polite but because everyone seemed concerned for catching some unholy plague if they happened to touch her.

The fanfare from the only bard in the swamp village continued on top of the stage where all three had been presented their trophy, and each were given a special cloak from the Village Council.

While everyone clapped and cheered the woman simply stood there and looked at Ny's face. Her look seemed to be accompanied with thought, almost as though she was studying the young elf girl. By the time Ny'ren noticed she was being stared at, the woman had already turned around and was on her way back out. Only a brief impression of one of her eyes as she turned away remained in Ny'ren's mind.

Her mind quickly shifted back to the fair when her two friends came up behind her and shook her, laughing vigorously. Someone uncorked a keg of ale nearby, letting loose a round of mischievous laughs. The rest of the evening was theirs to enjoy.

--

Once the booze began to flow, things got quite merry indeed. With the bards playing their hearts out on the strings of their lutes and the juiced-up men singing in gibberish about songless birds the atmosphere only increased with time. One particularly large man even got up onto a table in the hopes of dancing only to quickly have it break under him.

"Damn it, Gord!" the carpenter yelled from across the tavern "I just fixed that table this afternoon!"

Gord just shrugged and smiled up at his many admirers, earning him numerous rounds of applause and a couple of helping hands back to his feet. Despite how upset the carpenter may have appeared, even he couldn't avoid laughing at the sight before slapping the bar to ask for more ale.

Outside of tavern the people enjoyed themselves just as jubilantly. Wives swapped stories and talked about this and that, while their children played nearby. Most of the older girls sat and braided each other's hair while they whispered to each other about boys, while some younger ones sat nearby and played hand-clap games.

The boys meanwhile did what they did best and roughed around with each other. Some younger ones climbed trees and did cartwheels and other things like that. A couple of little boys even re-enacted the famous sword fight between Ammon Jerro and the King of Shadows, albeit with wooden swords.

"HYAH! Ung! Take that, evil king!" the young blonde boy playing Ammon yelled.

"You can't kill me, Jerro!" the other yelled back "These lands shall all be mine! Hahaha!"

The two boys playfully clanked their swords together. After a while the blonde began to get tired and his swings got slower. Seeing this, the other boy knew he had won. He gave a mock evil laugh and started swinging faster, making the Ammon kid retreat a few feet.

"Surrender now and I will spare you a painful death, Jerro." He said triumphantly. To this the other boy just smiled and raised his sword with two hands.

"You haven't won, and you never will. For I have a secret weapon. CHARGE!"

Much to his surprise, it actually worked. The kid playing the King of Shadows dropped his sword and ran like heck in the opposite direction. Ammon Jerro had won and the make-believe world was saved!

But something strange was happening. As the child took his bow, all the other boys began running away in the same direction. The older boys and all the girls followed quickly. Before he'd had a chance to look behind him, the boy's mother ran over and scooped him up.

The boy's mother ran in the same direction for a few feet before hugging him to her, giving him a chance to look over her shoulder at what was going on behind them. His mouth agape, the young boy dropped his sword.


	4. Chapter 4

Three militiamen made their stand on the bridge crossing the Harborman River in a wedge formation around Georg. The three militiamen—Irine, Jorun, and Faelin—leapt over and past them, and with every leap another dwarf fell. But they never stopped, never faltered, swinging their warhammers from the hip, forcing their way foreword, over the bridge, trampling over the bodies of dead comrades.

And it wasn't only dueger who died.

A slight tickling in the back of his neck was his warning. Webb Mossfield swung around, bringing his hammer to bear without thinking. A gray dwarf that must have swum across the river whirled, and the hammer passed harmlessly over him. But Webb continued his spin, caving in the dwarf's skull like a melon.

After a quick look around to make sure no more were lying in wait, Webb rushed foreword to help the militia, only too conscious of the dark shapes wading across the river and disappearing into the Farlong home. He could only hope that Ny hurried up and killed them—as much as he disliked her, they'd need her help.

Webb stabbed angrily at an approaching dwarf with the dagger in his left hand. Blood spurted in a high arc from a severed artery.

He landed a solid kick to the exposed throat of one of his attackers, and had the satisfaction of hearing a distinctive pop as his neck broke. It fell to the ground, head bent at an awkward angle.

"Hold them off!" Georg yelled, as much to reassure himself than to reassure his team, Webb thought. Not even five minutes in, and the bald militia leader had sweat staining his nightshirt.

Webb was waiting for his next open shot when a massive shadow with red wrinkled skin and pointy horns all over rose up in front of him; intent on the dwarves, Webb hadn't seen him coming, whoever he was--but it wasn't a friend.

The creature growled, and drove his sword straight for Webb's neck.

Webb's knees buckled and he bent backwards like a drawn bow. The creature's fist grazed Webb's nose as the sword passed over the young man's upturned face and bit into the sturdy wooden sign behind him; the unexpected shock loosened his grip on the blade, and it remained stuck fast in the sign.

Before he could pull it back out, Webb flipped his wrist over and slammed the butt of his hammer through his assailant's elbow.

The creature swayed, stunned.

"Demon-spawn," Webb hissed, and followed through with a blow that took its' head clean off. His head toppled to the ground, its' expression lost in the shadows.

The corpse fell against him. Webb pushed himself sideways out from under, looking for another target, and the dead creature slid to the ground.

Wyl and Ward were nowhere to be seen. They were either dead or fighting, he knew, but the idea didn't give him much hope. Either way, there was nothing left to do but fight his way towards them. As much as he hated his brothers, he didn't want to see them hurt.

Irine and Jorun fought one gray dwarf who had gone on a rampage, while Georg and Faelin busied themselves with the remaining three. Webb moved foreword to help them take down the dwarf. "This is for ruining my night, scum-packer," he muttered, gripping his hammer tightly.

For some reason, though, the hammer slowly became too heavy for him to hold steady. "What the _fuck_--?"

His knees had turned to cloth.

He glanced over at the creature's corpse. The other blade, the one Webb had completely forgot about, was stained bright red. Dripping.

"Oh."

He looked down. A huge diagonal gash opened his nightshirt across his abdomen, and his legs were soaked with blood—his blood. He sagged against the sign.

"Oh," he said again. "Oh, _crap_."

--

It was the muted snarls and growls that woke her.

Ny'ren Vollen gripped her two hunting knives securely in her hands, slipping out of her room and into the living room beyond. Garbed in only a nightshirt, her hair hanging loose down her back, she crouched near the doorway, unseen, and watched, with some shock, the gray dwarves tear up her house. The front door had been left open; she could smell the smoke from outside.

She counted five dueger in all, dripping wet and yapping at one another like mad dogs in a language all of their own. She gripped the hunting knives tighter in her hands, trying to keep them from shaking. They were armed with axes, but their armor looked weak—structurally deficient. It was too light, and probably offered no more protection than her nightclothes did her.

She wished she'd had the foresight to bring her bow… or don the light armor she used for hunting.

Her hunting knives were each as long as her forearm, carved into a wicked point. They'd been a gift from Daeghun for her birthday… she hoped they worked as well against dwarven skin as they did against boar flesh.

One of the dueger passed close to the door, becoming quieter as he got ever closer to what he must've thought were the sleeping owners of the house. She pressed her back harder to the wall, refusing to breath even for a millisecond. He passed the doorway, and she struck.

The knife dug deep through the soft tissue of the side of his neck, cutting off his air and severing the major artery that ran through his throat. She ripped it out sideways, spraying blood against the wooden paneling. The dueger fell to the ground. Dead.

She looked up, catching her breath. One of the dueger uttered a battle cry and ran for her, axe held low. She twisted out of the way at the last second, sticking her other knife out just far enough to clothesline him as he passed.

"Aren, to me!" Ny cried, her voice shriller than normal. Even as she spoke, the remaining three dwarves charged her, each from a different direction. Ny backed up towards the steps to get higher ground and to keep all three of them in front of her where she could see them. She kicked the closest one—where, she didn't know—and he staggered back, gasping for air. The other two took the opening and attacked, yelling a guttural battle cry that sounded almost demonic to her ears. She leapt back up another two steps, then used the high ground to her advantage, bunching the muscles in her legs and jumping over the two to land on the ground behind them.

She stabbed the one on the left as hard as she could, pivoting sideways to avoid another blow by the dwarf she had kicked earlier, and jammed the other knife in the throat of the other.

From the black mist that had been gathering near her father's desk, a hulking mass of fur and muscle moved.

Her familiar, a larger-than-life bear, flattened the dwarf she'd kicked and dug her teeth into the dueger's throat. The remaining dwarf yelled out in surprise and tried to make a retreat up the stairs. He tripped and fell, but before Ny could get to him Aren had taken care of him, too.

She looked around at the house and suddenly felt dizzy. The dizziness overcame her like the blood that stained the floor and walls were her own.

_I… I just… Killed them._

The realization of that dawned slowly, and Ny had to swallow back bile in her throat. She stared at the dead bodies in front of her, horrified at what she'd just done. _I killed THEM._

"Oh… oh by the gods," she whispered. She could hear the sounds of battle outside, getting closer and closer to her home; she could still smell the fires burning, only now the scent was joined with that of blood.

Aren growled, a sharp, staccato sound, and nudged her shoulder with her nose. Ny retrieved the knives from their bodies, wiping the blood on their clothing. "Are you okay?" she asked her familiar, her voice shaking.

Aren's answering growl seemed to vibrate the entire room.

"Right," Ny muttered. She took a quick look at the front door, still open, and said, "Stay here and watch it. I'll be right back." She slipped back upstairs without waiting for a reply and opened her trunk. As quickly as she could, she changed into her lightly-padded armor that had seen its' better days and slung her bow and quiver over her shoulder. She had a little trouble with the belt, as her hands were shaking so much, but she finally managed to get it secured tight around her waist.

Daeghun wasn't in his room. She refused to even think about the consequences of that.

She stepped over the dead bodies as gingerly as she could and patted Aren's flank—her stiff, coarse hair was standing on end. Without a word, Ny led her familiar out of the house.

The scene that met her eyes was terrible.

At the Harborman Bridge, a vicious battle was being fought. She could just see Georg's bald head leading the defense and Irine's golden blonde hair as they twisted and evaded the attacking dueger. There were at least a few more militia there fighting, but she was too far away to tell who it was.

She stuffed the hunting knives back in their leather sheaths and withdrew her bow, fitting an arrow into the string. She allowed her pupils to expand, sinking into her elven darkvision, and picked out the individual dwarves. She inhaled, willing her hands to stop shaking, and calmed her racing heart. She squinted, waiting for exactly the right moment…

She exhaled, and as she did it she let the arrow fly. It flew true, just missing Georg's left leg and burying into the heart of the enemy next to him. Aren bounded foreword, evening out the odds as she fitted another arrow into her string. _Inhale… exhale!_

Another dwarf down.

Between herself, Aren, and the militia, they made quick work of the remaining dwarves. Ny jogged up to meet Georg, who knelt next to a wounded man. Jorun Mossfield—Wyl, Ward, and Webb's prejudiced father—was next to him, shouting in the man's ear to wake up, to just _wake up…_

Ny edged closer to see who it was, hoping with all her heart that it wasn't Bevil there, laying on the grass…

It wasn't.

Webb Mossfield looked small in death—or was he even in death? She dropped beside them, aware of Aren, Irine and Faelin keeping guard over the group, and got a better look at the wound. _Oh no._

His entire shirt was soaked through with dark red blood, all stemming from a diagonal slash from his left shoulder to his navel. "He's still alive," Georg said with certainty. "We need to get him to Brother Merring if he's to survive, though. Jorun…?"

"I saw him over by the Cow and Corset," the heavyset man gasped out. His face was red from exertion, and a shallow cut at the base of his wrist dripped blood down his hand and on to the grass.

"Ny'ren, you go with Jorun to find Brother Merring," Georg ordered. "We'll stay here and hold the bridge."

Jorun threw Ny a distrustful look, but she didn't even pay attention. Without taking her eyes away from the Webb's horrifying wound, she said, "Have you seen Bevil or Amie?"

"Bevil was with Brother Merring," Irine said, crouching to look at Ny. She was a pretty woman, with long golden blonde hair and bright blue eyes. "If my gut's right, Amie's with your Bevil, too."

Jorun stood up and trotted away, his greatsword held menacingly in one hand. Ny got up to leave, but Georg grabbed at her wrist. "Gather up all the militia you can find," he ordered. "Tell them to meet us at the training fields near the Starling farm."

"Understood," Ny said.

"And Ny?" Irine asked. "If you see my husband, or my son… Tell them to stay safe for me, will you?"

Ny swallowed, hit by the reality of the situation in one, deft blow. "Yeah," she choked out. "I will."

She ran after Jorun.

--

Back-to-back with probably the one person who hated her more than Daeghun, Ny fought for her life.

She didn't know what these red creatures were, the ones with the spikes all over their bipedal bodies. They were tough, strong, and faster than any human had the right to be, and she was hard-pressed to keep up with their lightning fast sweeps towards her head. She and Aren fought tooth and nail (literally in the bear's case) just to stay ahead of them. She could see Bevil out of the corner of her eye, struggling to fight his way to her. Amie must've been close by then, too… And that meant Brother Merring was even closer.

Ny rammed the hunting knife in her right hand towards the red creature's chest, using the other one to block the incoming blow. The knife connected, and the creature paused, stunned.

Aren bit it.

"Ny, look out!"

Amie's scream came from somewhere next to her, and she twisted around to look for the source of the voice. Jorun's strangled gasp came from behind her, and she turned around just in time to see three more gray dwarves approaching from his end.

It was the axe stuck in Jorun's stomach that caught her attention. He fell to his knees, stunned. The dwarf pulled back the axe and rammed it into the hollow between his shoulder and neck. Jorun toppled to the ground.

It was her or them. New energy seized in Ny's limbs, and she moved like a madwoman, using her knives as quick as her arms would allow. She didn't even come close to killing them.

Bevil was too far away. Her arms were like lead, screaming in protest at every movement. She could feel Aren beside her, not tiring but rather excited at the hunt, and tried to draw on that strength. There was a sudden, bright blast of light, and the dwarves were illuminated for one split second—then they fell to the ground.

Marveling at whatever godly force had intervened, Ny looked up and saw Amie on the porch of the Cow and Corset, her arms raised above her like she were summoning lightning. There was sweat on her face.

Ny didn't waste any more time—she grabbed Aren's fur and hoisted herself on to the bear's shoulders. Amie lowered her arms and watched them as they approached. Her normal, cheerful-looking face was gray and drawn. "I can't find Tarmas," she said as Ny approached. "Have you seen him?"

Ny was disheartened by the news. "No," she said. "Have you seen Daeghun?"

Amie swallowed, and then shook her head. This wasn't good.

"Tell me what happened," Ny demanded.

"They just came out of nowhere," Bevil said, jogging up to them. The dueger he'd been fighting lay dead on the ground. "A little after you went home to put up the trophy. Everybody's all scattered around, but Brother Merring's taking the wounded inside here. We've been guarding the place for him."

"Webb's hurt—he needs help," Ny said, and she explained what had happened on the bridge. She glanced back towards Jorun's body, an unfamiliar emotion running through her adrenaline-high body. "Oh gods, I can't believe this is happening…"

"Well, it just got worse." Amie muttered. Ny turned to see what had caused her to say it, expecting more dwarves and red creatures… and felt her shoulders slump. Jorun's eleven-year-old daughter had come out of the Cow and Corset, her face blotchy with tears, and was staring, slack-jawed, at her father's body. "Inu… Inu, just go back inside, okay?"

Inu was shaking her head, the tears running freely down her face. Then, before Ny could stop her, she was sprinting to her father's body. Knowing too well at the state she'd find him in, Ny had to look away. Inu's accompanying scream brought tears to her eyes. Hearing Bevil say someone should go get her Ny exhaled and nervously scratched her neck before rushing over.

Ny followed him back to the battlefield, putting her knives away. Inu had draped herself over her father's body, sobs racking her small frame. "No, dad, no, no, no… no! _WAKE UP! _WAKE_ UP!_"

Ny'ren knelt next to the girl, her throat closing in an emotion she tried to suppress. "Come here, baby," she whispered, taking Inu's arm. "You need to get inside."

Inu sobbed harder than ever. "Why won't he wake up?" she whispered. Her sob trailed off into a long, keening cry.

Ny drew Inu into a hug, allowing the girl to cry on her shoulder. As she cried, she picked the girl up—a hard feat, considering that she was only a few inches shorter than her—and carried her back to the Cow and Corset. "No," Inu cried. "We can't leave him—we can't leave him!"

"We'll get him after the fight," Amie promised, patting the girl's back. Even after Ny set her down, she continued to clutch the elf in a deathgrip. "I'll bring her inside," she told Bevil and Ny.

"Get Merring out here," Ny said quietly.

Amie gently untangled Inu from Ny's form and led her inside, keeping up a soothing stream of words the entire way. Ny looked at Bevil and saw the same, naked emotion cross over his face as it did hers. _So many people are dead now,_ she thought to herself. _Jorun, maybe Webb, maybe Daeghun, maybe Tarmas, so many more…_

Bevil drew her into a hug she felt she needed right then. She could still hear the sounds of battle carrying on over the far end of the village, but she couldn't go there now. She didn't think she could bear to see how many people were dead. A vision of Daeghun's corpse, mutilated and killed just the way Jorun had been, made her shudder so hard it hurt.

Bevil didn't say anything. They held each other until Amie came back out. Her eyes were swollen and puffy. She held out her hand, showing them the swamp moss held within it. "For Webb," she said, "and anybody else we come across. It staunches the bleeding until they can get here."

Ny nodded. "We need to get all the militia to the training fields," she said. "Were there any in there?"

"Irine was a while ago, but she was at the bridge with you, wasn't she?" Amie asked. Ny nodded. "Everybody in there is either dead or dying."

She shuddered again.

Aren nudged Amie's shoulder with her large, massive snout. She opened her jaws wide, and Amie placed the swamp moss inside. Aren cradled it in her teeth and set off for the bridge at a running pace. Amie watched her go, fascinated. She closed her eyes and whispered a few words to herself, and Volvo the bat—her familiar—appeared beside her from thick black smoke.

"Let's go," Bevil said. "We don't have any time to waste."

Together, the three of them made their way to the bridge as fast as they could manage. They encountered a few dwarves and a couple of those red things. But now that they were healed and blessed, they encountered little significant resistance. Not to mention the two familiars they had assisting them by clearing the path.

When they finally reached the bridge and found Georg, he looked worse for wear. The leader of the militia had obviously been fighting hard for his life this evening. He lay doubled over the well, gasping for air while Aren tried to get his attention with her snout.

"Georg! Sir!" Bevil called out "Three more swords and some healing reporting for duty."

Georg stabilized himself on Aren and looked up. "Bevil! Ny! Damn decent of you to turn back up when you did. I've got a job for you."

The three of them stopped and gave Georg a piece of the swamp moss from Aren's mouth for wounds on his left forearm and ribs. He quickly swallowed it even though it must have tasted like any other medicine and quickly continued briefing them. "We've been holding our own on the bridge so far but we've taken some losses as well."

He pointed all around them at the houses, which Ny hoped didn't mean that everyone in this part of town had been slaughtered. Georg quickly clarified.

"The greys seem to be coming at us with more force this time. We can only stave 'em off for so long with these numbers."

"We _really_ need to gather the rest of the village militia." Ny said looking down at the houses.

Georg cracked his neck and stretched his arms "Precisely. Some of them are fighting over there or they're pinned down in their houses. Hells, some of them are even-" He casually glanced off to the side "GET DOWN!"

No sooner than he warned them did a fireball come screeching across the field and miss them by inches. Instead it hit a tree, combusting it into ashes within seconds. "Mage!" Bevil cried, ducking behind the well just as more magic began to sound out overhead. It appeared to be coming from two different sources and when Amie peeked above the well she noticed the familiar robes of her master, Tarmas.

Tarmas was fully absorbed in fighting the mage that had almost incinerated the four of them just seconds ago. Both he and the evil mage had shields blocking them from the other's attack. Back and forth the two of them fired bright balls of light at each other.

The fight was fairly evenly matched and whenever one seemed to get an advantage, the other would respond with an even stronger spell which balanced them back out. At the moment Tarmas appeared to be having trouble containing the rival mage, his shield faltered and his spells seemed to be getting weaker. Seeing this, Amie just couldn't help herself.

"Master!" she cried in concern "Let us help you!"

This called Tarmas' attention away from the fight, however, allowing the mage to fire one well-placed spell and knock him onto his back. He managed to re-cast the shield just in time to keep a fireball from getting in.

Tarmas yelled at Amie without looking "Get away, child! This is too much for you!" and noticed a sick grin form on the face of his rival. Without so much as a word, the mage launched another fireball at Amie, who struggled with a shield of her own. The fireball hit her square in the chest and combusted with such force that it sent her skidding backwards before her body came to a stop and began to slowly roast.

The mage seemed awful pleased with himself "That's what you get for not keeping your beloved apprentice on a tighter leash, o wizard! Farewell!!" he taunted down to Tarmas before disappearing in a ball of black smoke.

A beat of silence.

"AMIE!"

Ny began to crawl towards her friend's corpse, slowly charring underneath her clothing, but Irine grabbed her around the chest, holding her back. "There's nothing you can do, Ny—"

"Get her, save her, Tarmas!"

"It's too late, Ny—"

"We can still save her—"

Ny struggled hard and viciously, but Irine wouldn't let go. "There's nothing you can do, Ny… nothing… She's gone."


	5. Chapter 5

The dining table at the Cow and Corset was, as Webb thought, the kind you could use as an operating table if you needed to.

It was cut from a single plank of ancient oak tree, a native hardwood that covered much of West Harbor's northern borders. Webb felt it was a table for life events, huge rambling discussions, and somehow also for the slaughter of a baby pig. He lay on it now, while Brother Merring hovered above him, worn and weary in his red and black monk robes. Dark red spots marred the pristine white of the center parting, and Webb knew without asking it was blood—some of it his, some of it the other wounded men and women in the Cow and Corset restaurant.

"Almost done," Merring said, face still grey and drained from the effort of exacting so many spells of healing over the wounded and dying. "Tuck in."

Enlightened Neverwinter court society would have tutted at the traditionalist view that the female of the household were valued for their cooking skills, but Webb was getting used to a subtler Harborman take on that he'd never noticed before. The whole village was a close, tight-knit fighting unit. Those who weren't on the front as obvious protectors—militia, for instance—were the essential part of the entire process, and many just happened to be female. Sometimes the women fought alongside men, as Ny did, and sometimes they didn't. But those who didn't still had a job to do—keeping their protectors fed and supplies, and the base or homestead defended. One couldn't operate without the other. And at this moment of crisis for the Mossfield family—for the whole village—the females had taken over and made sure the protectors were well-fed and rested. There was no weeping into dirty handkerchiefs and waiting by the door. There was just an efficient, robust operation that would still be there even if the entire world around them went into flames and the men taken in Kelevmor's cold grasp.

Wyl and Jorun were…

Wyl and his father were dead. Webb said it to himself every few minutes, because he looked at live people—his sister—and couldn't reconcile the two states.

Inu, his little sister, had said that their mother Glinda had screamed inconsolably for a full five minutes when she saw Jorun and Wyl's dead bodies, then had calmed down and regarded the world with a grave eyes and a contemplation more suited to the face of a wise old sage.

Glinda was eating some leftover pork over at the other table, seeming suddenly sober, exactly like an old sage than a flirty, raunchous adult. Something had changed in her. Ward sat beside her, an arm around her shoulders, the only one of the brothers who hadn't attained a single scrape or wound. He and Wyl had been a close pair, the town bullies, Webb had sometimes thought, even though he had occasionally joined in on the fun. Right now, his eyes were red and puffy and a blank expression was on his face—Webb imagined him as a burning man, being eaten alive by fire while watching his family descend into grief. A _man_, now. You couldn't go through the Nine Hells and come out as anything less.

Ward looked over at Webb, who still lie on the table, bleeding and mute. Slowly, imperceptibly, Ward nodded, acknowledging his brother's presence. Webb looked away, up to the ceiling, working against the tightness in his throat and the prickling in his eyes. But he couldn't win, and a hitched sob escaped from his throat.

_I can't do this, I can't do this… I can't_believe _it…_

Inu said that it was the elf that saved him. That she'd tried saving Jorun and Wyl, too. Right now, it seemed almost treason, thinking that an elf would have tried saving his father, putting her life on the line… Jorun had hated elves, had hated Ny and Daeghun Farlong ever since Webb could remember. It was insult to his memory, saying things like that. But Ny had tried, Inu had said, going on despite his apparent irritation. She'd tried, and she'd saved him dying at the Harborman Bridge. She'd been a big, instrumental part in the town's survival. And, Webb privately thought, a little too renowned in the village than was good for her.

Also, Inu had said, Amie Fern, Ny's best friend in the village, almost like her sister, wizard-in-training, a nice, pretty girl that the Mossfield brothers had picked on almost more than once a day… Amie had died, too, so it wasn't only them, the brothers, feeling the pain of loss.

"How many died?" He was proud of his voice—it didn't waver too much, but it was rougher than usual.

Brother Merring sighed. "Seven." The word was a lament. Obviously, the priest couldn't get there in time. "Including Irine Beasely and Amie."

Irine was the woman, the only female in the militia, that had worked on the bridge with him, Georg, and Jorun before he'd blacked out. He could remember her, a graceful—if somewhat rough—fighter, always the funniest, and always the most surprising. He could picture her now, face pale white against the soot-blackened grass, her golden-blonde waves spread around her like a lion's mane. He worked past the tightening of his throat to ask, "Irine. How?"

When Brother Merring didn't answer, Inu did. "She tried to find her kid," his sister whispered. Her shoulder-length black hair was pulled into a messy bun, her heavy brows pulled into a frown. Dried blood from a cut to her shoulder had crusted on her arm, making her more the part of the weary fighter, and less like the mature little girl he'd known a million years ago. "I… She tripped." Inu's voice broke, and he saw her shudder for a moment, reliving the memory.

Webb forced a small smile. "Hey, you know… she always said she wanted to go out fighting."

"Dad never did." He could see the tears threatening to fall, but through an act of will they never did. He could imagine what she was feeling—she'd always been daddy's little girl. "He always said he wanted to die in his sleep." Her breath hitched, and the tears fell. She bowed her head, hiding her face behind a forearm.

And that was what twisted his stomach the most: the sight of his evil little sister crying her heart out. She didn't sob like the other women did, but took it quiet and ashamed-like. Even now, when she had the most reason to cry, she couldn't even to it all the way. He got up on his elbows and drew Inu towards him. She buried her head in the crook of his arm. He could feel her shaking.

"You'll go over it in your head a thousand times," Merring said wearily. "Over and over. I've done it. But remember, they only died one, and then it was over."

On first take, he sounded pretty harsh, if brutally true, but Webb could recognize the wisdom and comfort in his observations, and he hoped to the Gods that she would someday feel some beginnings of peace that he never would. Nobody died as painfully or as often as the living left behind, who kept reliving the moment of death, and speculating on it. There was no end to their dying once they let it drive out everything else. The loved one whose end they repeatedly tired to endure and imagine was now beyond pain.

"I guess," he mumbled. He seemed to have given him a reserve of emotional oxygen to get him out of a suffocating spot. "We'll all find out one day."

"Yeah…" Inu's articulate response was lost, and he stared up at the ceiling, choking down the lump in his throat. He found himself thinking about, oddly, the elves—Daeghun and his foster daughter, Ny. They were still alive, they'd lost nobody except for Amie… He could see Jorun now, blaming the elves for the attack. _"They're up to something,"_ he'd say. _"Somebody in this fucking village is, that's for damn sure. What the hell is a Kalach-Cha? Some sort of elf weapon? It ain't human."_

_Kalach-Cha._

The enemy had been screaming it, pleading at the top of their lungs—_Find the Kalach-Cha! Find it!_ They didn't find it, even after they burned down three buildings and killed seven innocents trying to protect their home. He thought of Irine again, and wondered how her husband and child were coping.

He couldn't think of Jorun and Wyl—he couldn't. He knew if he did, the floodgates would open and there would be no stopping. He couldn't _no_t pretend they didn't exist, because they did and they were as main a part of his life as anything could be. So he pushed down on the thoughts, focused on Inu and the thought of the elves having something to do with the attack… Somebody fucking did, and instead of grieving, he'd put his efforts into finding what this Kalach-Cha was… and killing the one that carried it.

Brother Merring drew back, a pale sheen of sweat on his brow. "I've stitched it," he said, at first so quietly that Webb could barely hear him over the noise of families crowding over wounded loved ones around him. "I've cast a blessing over the wound. If I am in the Sun God's favor, you will heal quickly."

"Thanks, Brother," Webb muttered. He propped himself up further on his elbows to look at the nasty cut on his chest. A small sliver of watery liquid fell on his wound even as he sat up, stinging. It was a blackened, reddish line stretching from his left shoulder to the right of his hip, a right painful cut that screamed fire when he moved. Merring had carefully woven the cut together when he was unconscious. "Urgh. You think you can do anything for the pain?"

He was expecting another spell, but Merring just reached into the folds of his robes and produced a nice little pile of poppy seeds. He pressed them into Webb's hand, and he lifted it to his mouth, forcing himself to chew and swallow. "Thanks."

But Merring had already left.

Inu exposed her head a bit to wipe something wet off of his cheek. He looked down at her and kissed the top of her head. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, sniffing. "Yeah… yeah, I'm fine."

_Liar._

But then Webb was guilty of the same lie, too.

--

Pitney Lannon, a rather large, smelly human with a humorous disposition, stood looking down at Ny'ren Vollen with an expression one could only describe as forced humor.

"Are we keeping you awake, Ny?" He had a small ax for chopping wood in his hand—still on guard, even after the battle—stained with blue and red blood, just like the one she'd seen Jorun using, but Jorun's weapon was lying next to his dead body a few meters away with all the other dead, and—she forced herself to think it—and Amie. "Look sharp. I bet my season's salary they'll be back again." He leaned heavily on the wall she was using a backrest and slid down into a seating position. "Got to keep the illusion of a hardworking militia."

Ny had now been awake for the better part of forty-eight hours, snatching a few minutes sleep ten minutes before the attack even started. She was hungry: not the usual peckishness of a woman fueling a fast metabolism, but a gnawing sick hunger that demanded satisfaction.

"Yeah…" Her head buzzed with fatigue. It took a conscious effort just to move her muscles. As she reloaded her crossbow, her arms felt like they belonged to someone else, directed by strings she wasn't holding. "Killed a few in the Starling house. Or the bear did. One or the other."

"What?"

"Where's Bevil?"

"You're rambling, lass. Get something to eat, stay alert."

"Here, Ny." Bevil, bless him, crossed over to them with a large sack. "We've been on replenishment run from the Cow and Corset." He opened the string and revealed a treasure-trove of round, sugar-crusted cakes, wafers filled with something brown and gooey, and containers of unnaturally bright red liquid. "Guess what? Free dessert."

Ny had to take off her gloves to eat. She threw them to the ground: at that moment, she didn't care if there was another attack. She had to eat and drink. She didn't even have the energy to flinch as Bevil forced the red liquid down her throat. Every fiber of her body was dedicated to getting one of those cakes in her mouth, and when she finally bit down—it was _exquisite._

It was intensely sweet—calorie-laden, nutritional junk, but pure instant energy. _Bliss_. She felt it and the health potion flood her muscles with renewed life. "I'm never going to ask for discounts again," she said hoarsely. "This is really nice of them."

Bevil's litter brother Telin popped out of nowhere. He grabbed a cake. "Least they can do for us keeping their place from burning down," he said through a mouthful of sweets.

"Yeah, right," Bevil said sarcastically. "I didn't see you out helping."

"Did too!"

"Yeah? When?"

Ny tuned them out. When Bevil and Telin got at it, it took an earthquake to shake them apart—apparently the near-destruction of their home didn't have any bearing on their social standards.

Brother Merring emerged out of the Cow and Corset, looking even more grey than before. Ny understood that all the wounded were being treated on the Corset's own dining tables, and distantly wondered if she'd ever be able to eat there again without remembering. Every further dine-in would be a remote reminder of what happened.

Daeghun Farlong, her unemotional slab of a foster father, was nowhere to be seen—perhaps he was helping the wounded, too. He sure wasn't among them.

Georg and Brother Merring knelt over the dead while Merring placed a blessing on their corpses. Ny had asked him about the blessings once and figured this was the one to prevent them from coming up as shadow wraiths. It seemed a sensible precaution—if she were summoned back from the dead as a shadow, she'd have a few choice words to say.

She felt Amie would have, too.

_Why did you have to be a fool, Amie? You should have let Tarmas handle it._

Amie had been burnt to a crisp, right in front of her eyes. Remembering filled her with a dull, numb dread. Tears would come later—Harbormen life had guarded her well to the emotional tortures of the mind. _Amie, Amie, Amie…_

"What were those things?" Ny looked up to see Georg gesturing at one of the tall, elf-like creatures somebody had felled. It had reddish skin and tons of little spikes protruding on its' body like an unpuffed blowfish. Ny's lip curled without her even realizing it. "I've never seen anything quite like it."

Brother Merring glanced behind him and sighed. "Those are bladelings," he said quietly. "Their kind is rarely seen in our land—they dwell in a place beyond."

"Then what in the Nine Hells are they doing here?" the militia leader demanded.

Brother Merring sighed, a sound that could have been associated with the entire situation. "Lathander doesn't illuminate all mysteries for me. We must rely on our own wits this time around."

Georg just shook his head. "One of those dwarves mentioned they were searching for something…" He looked around the assembled militia. "Does anybody know what that is?"

Something touched her shoulder, but only lightly. She glanced up meeting the familiar sight of her foster father's moss-green eyes. The small sliver of relief she had when she noted he wasn't harmed vanished soon when she saw the look in his eyes. "Lass," he said quietly, "come over here with me."

He turned around and strode a few meters away, out of earshot of the others, not even bothering to help her up. Bevil gave her a 'just-do-it' look, but Ny was suddenly very conscious of Georg's stare in her direction. She pretended not to notice and stood, her knees popping audibly in protest. Her muscles ached from the battle, as if she had spent an entire week dragging a caravan through mud.

She forced herself to walk over anyway, ignoring the ache in her joints as she did so. She wondered idly if Daeghun was going to ask if she was alright… if he didn't, it wouldn't be that surprising. She was walking, that's what counted. As long as she wasn't trailing blood behind her, she was perfectly fine. She felt herself hoping, embarrassed, that he would act like Retta Starling for once and be a maternal parent. "Dad?"

"I see you are unharmed," he said, albeit stiffly. "Many have not been so fortunate, and others have seen their final night. I understand you lost a friend in the attack. A tragedy. She was a promising young mage, or so I'm told."

She refused to recall the details and tried to picture Aren, her extra-planar pet bear, in her mind. The casual way he mentioned it couldn't have hit her harder than if he'd slapped her… with a hammer. She felt herself shrugging, her eyes drifting away from his. "Yeah, well… the entire attack was a tragedy," she muttered, fidgeting with something in her belt.

"Yes, and to dwell on that loss serves no purpose." She started in surprise—had he pulled her over just to tell her to forget about her best friend? Her eyes flashed dangerously, but he carried on without seemingly to notice. In fact, he leaned in closer—she leaned away, suddenly disgusted.

How would he know about the grief she felt right now? She knew it was in vain that she'd searched for maternal love. "There is still much to discuss and we have not much time to talk. There are many who are wounded, Ny. There is something you must do. Tonight."

Her face froze in whatever expression it had been holding. _Oh, gods, he knows_. She forced herself to swallow acquired saliva and asked timidly "What?"

"These… bladelings were here to find something, and I fear I know what."

She could always tell Daeghun's mood by the minute signs in his face, but this was a new one… or perhaps one so old that she couldn't remember. Ny's mind suddenly flashed to past attempts to talk about her mother and the look on his face as he told her.

He was hiding something. Something that in nineteen years of her life he'd never bothered to tell her. Something that may well have just caused the near-destruction of her home and the death of her best friend. She stiffened, bristling angrily. "So we barely trade words and NOW you decide to fill me in?" She glared at him.

"Tonight is not a night of words, but of action," he urged. His slanted eyebrows were pulled down over his eyes in a look of intense concentration. "There is an item—_listen to me_." She had begun to look towards Bevil but he grabbed hold of her arm in a vice grip. She refused to look in his direction, but stopped, turning her scowl towards the barnyard to her left._Calm is the key, calm is the key…_

"A silver shard." Daeghun continued "Long ago, I concealed it in the ruins outside of town. I fear it may have driven those creatures down upon us."

Ny closed her eyes, counted to five, and opened them. Daeghun let go of her arm. "Why do you think the shard is their goal?" she asked.

"Think it through." _Hypocrite._"Their kind doesn't plunder a village like West Harbor, not for a few coins and a helm or two. They had a reason."

"Where did the shard come from?"

Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Daeghun's expression harden—the turtle withdrawing back into its shell. "It is from the time your mother died. Those were… dark times for the village… We will speak more of it later, upon your return. For now, all that matters is its' retrieval."

Ny looked him in the eye, arms crossed. "Why did you hide it? Why didn't you turn it in to Neverwinter or something?"

For the first time, his voice became dangerously sharp. "I had my reasons, which do not concern you right now." She grit her teeth angrily. "It was a thing that should not stay above ground."

"You're the one that hid it!" she exclaimed. "Why don't you go get it?"

"There are too many wounded to care for, more than Brother Merring can handle on his own. I can not go, so you must travel in my stead. There is no choice in the matter."

"I can mend them."

His tone didn't even waver. "The stones outside the village are older and deeper than you may think. In the farthest chamber of the main ruins, look for a strongbox – inside is the shard, wrapped in a blue traveling cloak."

"It sounds simple enough." _Which is why you should get it._

"There remains one thing. You should not go alone." And, to her astonishment, he turned back to where Bevil Starling was standing, watching them with a curious eye but still out of hearing range. Daeghun took a few steps closer. "Bevil. I need you to accompany my daughter to the ruins. This is an important task."

"Why don't you announce it to the entire village?" Ny grumbled.

Bevil was nothing if not shocked by this proposal. "But Georg says the ruins have been overrun by lizardling tribes…"

"I can't believe this," she muttered. Ny glared at Daeghun.

"And that is why you must go. Together, two can succeed where one might fail." Daeghun gave Ny a pointed look. "The cries of the wounded cannot be ignored any longer. Find the shard, Ny'ren. Find it, and bring it here."

They both watched him enter the Cow and Corset, and Bevil shook his head sadly. "No offense meant Ny but your father's made the hairs on my neck stand up."

Ny exhaled and looked at the ground. "Yeah me too."

"I'm serious." Bevil continued "I'm just hoping the shard is still there when we get into the ruins. I mean, it's been there so long that I have to believe it's been picked clean by now. And sorry… I couldn't help listening in on you two. You looked mad."

Having her conversation listened on was the last thing on Ny's mind. She turned around and looked Bevil top to bottom. "Are you ready for more fighting?" she asked, gesturing to the sword slung over his back. He must've been as tired as she was.

A small smile flitted across his face. "I can be... if you'll take me."

She shook her head, forcing herself to descend into the friendly banter—anything to get rid of Daeghun's words echoing in her head. "I want you to... but you might get hurt."

"So?"

Ny shrugged her shoulders and bobbed her head in a considering fashion before looking back again. "Did Daeghun send you to spy on me?" The words hung in the air a moment before Ny actually realized it was her that said them. She turned her face away to hide the flame of embarrassment crawling up her cheeks.

Bevil only snorted. "Spying on you would be a full-time job – the way you get around. The Mere is dangerous, you know, as much as you treat it like your own backyard. He probably only figured you could use an extra sword-arm, especially where we're going."

Ny nodded and secretly rolled her eyes. She had no idea where that assumption had come from. She sighed and glanced back towards the Harborman River, where their path would start. She knew the swampy woods better than anybody in the village, perhaps even more so than her foster father, but the very idea of assaulting a lizardling camp in almost pitch darkness didn't appeal to her. This land belonged to the lizardlings, and hardly anyone had been near there since they took over six years ago.

"What do you know of the ruins?" she wondered. Perhaps Bevil knew more than she did—she hoped so.

"Hold on a second, you're asking me, right?" he chuckled at her "You spend every waking moment out there in the swamp – always out of doors. You probably know the ruins better than anybody in town." Neither one of them seemed very pleased. The darkness at the edge of their torches seemed to thicken at this revelation.

_Oh that's just great_.

"Lizardlings are best left to themselves." She chose her next words carefully. "Peaceful co-existence and all that stuff."

"Georg says the same thing, though he thinks its best not to stir up a hornet's nest when the hornets are minding their own business. See Lizardlings can be terr… Uh territa…" He paused, floundering for words. "Protective of what's theirs. And I don't think you'll be able to talk things over with them, either. This isn't going to be easy."

Ny shut her eyes. "Sure hope you have a lot of health potions handy, Bevil." she muttered. _Gods curse it, Amie, why'd you have to die? We need you._

Neither of the two of them made a sound but they might as well have sighed deeply. Ny and Bevil made their ways into and through lizardling territory. The whole time they fought their individual urges to look back towards home.


	6. Chapter 6

**Five hours post-Incursion: West Harbor**

Daeghun met them near the house. It was still night out, but the sky was slowly if not surely lightening up. Ny had stayed up the last twenty-four hours—the night defending the village and running errands into lizardmen territory—and it was beginning to wear her nerves thin. The adrenaline rush had worn off less than two hours ago: now it was just a battle to stay on her feet long enough to finish her 'errand'

Her ratty, dishelved appearance did nothing to get Daeghun's attention. He gave them a fleeting look, then met her square in the eye. She nodded.

He didn't say, I'm glad you're okay. He didn't say, _Are you well?_ He didn't say, _I was so worried about you._

All he said was, "So you've returned," with not an ounce of relief apparent in his inflectionless voice. "And you've brought it with you. Good."

"That's all you have to say?" Bevil glowered at her father, face flushed with anger apparent even when the dwindling moonlight. "I almost _died_ out there!"

Daeghun fixed Bevil with an even look that was just as scary as Aren. "If I did not believe you could handle the task, I would have sent another."

"Yeah, well, you weren't the one out there in the swamp being attacked by lizardfolk," he retorted, refusing to back down.

"No, I was here attending to the wounded, Bevil—now find Merring and do the same." Daeghun's tone grew slightly more clipped with each passing word, and for the first time Ny saw the bags under his eyes. She wondered at the last time he'd slept—probably a lot longer than she had. He wasn't the one sent on a suicide mission.

_Just… just get on with it._

Bevil threw Ny an indignant look. "I can't imagine how you put up with him. No wonder you avoid him."

"Go on ahead, Bev, I'll catch up with you in a second," Ny said. "Get yourself cleaned up."

Bevil was only too happy to slump off towards his house near the parade grounds, taking a roundabout route behind the houses to avoid being noticed by the others still in the center of the village.

Daeghun waited until Bevil was a respectful distance away before saying, "Now for the shard, let me see it." Daeghun held out his hand expectantly.

"You know that was no way to treat Bevil," she reprimanded.

_I can't imagine how you put up with him. No wonder you avoid him_. Yeah, that was the truth, and she didn't have enough energy to be embarrassed by the fact. Years of pretending her foster father was a knight on a secret mission had passed years ago.

"Our talk is for our ears alone," Daeghun said stiffly. "Bevil has served his purpose, and does not need to be troubled any further. He has his uses, but it's not wise to depend on somebody of Starling blood for too long—also, his complaining tires me and will not serve you where you are bound."

Somewhere in there was an accusation, and Ny was only too happy to meet it with another.

"If you really thought that I could take on the lizardlings alone, you're sadly mistaken. You're the one that sent him, anyway." As she spoke, she dug through her pack. She fished out the shard and tossed it to him. He caught it with the dexterity born of a natural hunter. "Tell me more about the ruins," she said, as if bartering with an informant in Neverwinter City—and that was exactly how it felt like.

_Why can't we be a normal family? I hate him!_

"Many such ruins like within the Mere—and beneath it." Daeghun paused, hefting the shard in his hand as if he was weighing gold. "They are of ancient Illefarn, an empire once forged from the alliance of dwarves and elves. All that remains of their ruins, and little else, and their empire lives only in history books and stories."

"Mmhmm… so does that pass your inspection?" She gestured towards the shard.

He nodded absentmindedly, and handed it back to her, much to her confusion. Didn't he want it?

"The shard is one of a pair. Both were found after the battle that destroyed West Harbor long ago. My half-brother Duncan and I asked a mage in Neverwinter to examine the shards for enchantments, but he found nothing except a faint magical aura, a residue of the battle. So I kept the shard, and the other I gave to Duncan. Not long after I returned I sealed in away in the ruins."

Ny lost him at 'Duncan.' She frowned, trying to grasp her head over the seemingly unimportant detail he'd so elegantly thrown into the conversation_. I don't remember anything about Duncan. He never told me. "_I have an uncle?" she asked, voice low and threatening. "And you were going to tell me this when, exactly?"

Daeghun only shrugged, as if this minor detail was barely worth speaking about. But it was. Ny could see it from the look in his eye. "So to speak. It would be more appropriate to say that I have a half-brother… Duncan, like Bevil, has many faults that would make it wise not to rely on him or call him kin."

"And you're not going to say any more about him than necessary, are you?"

He nodded.

Ny felt her face prick with heat. _Focus, focus, focus_. She pulled away, entering her house and crossing towards the fireplace. It was cold outside, and the fire, thankfully, was on._ I could go to sleep here, _she thought. She was passed being so tired she felt awake—now it was pure grogginess that demanded instant satisfaction. "How long ago was the battle fought?" she asked

The voice came from her right—he'd taken a seat at his desk and was busy rummaging through its' contents. "It was long ago—and the battle did not concern West Harbor, but the village was caught up in it, like many such villages in the Mere of Dead Men. We knew little about what had sparked the conflict. Demons were involved, led by a warlock with great power—we only knew him as the King of Shadows. The forces of Neverwinter attempted to drive the demons back. Many villagers fled, some taking the road, others wading into the swamp, anything to escape the battle. There was an explosion—pure and white—then nothing more."

Ny fingered the shard in her grip, studying the way the light played across the surface. When the fire reflected off of it, it sent dizzying sparkles of light around the wooden home. "I can feel magic from this," she said softly. "Strong magic. I don't feel so… tired, when I hold it." She could feel the shard's small thrum of elemental energy, all cooped up inside. She wondered if Daeghun had felt it, too.

"Strange," he noted. "Perhaps the attack awakened it. If so, then a second look at these shards would yield different results. But such divinations would be beyond anyone here in West Harbor, including Tarmas."

"I think Tarmas is more than he seems," she defended. "Amie did, too." No answer. Obviously, he was waiting for her to get to the point. "Why do you think those things were looking for this? It doesn't seem very _special._"

At this, Daeghun sighed, the first real emotion he had shown since she'd turned up. "That is the only reason I can think of why they came. Am I certain? No. But my instincts tell me they are looking for it."

"Maybe your instincts are wrong."

"It is the only thing of substance in this village that would cause them to tear it apart as they did—they were not looking for gold, or valuables—nor did they seem to care about us unless we got in their way."

"So you put it into the ruins. You didn't think they'd look for it in a lizardling infested swamp," she said evenly. "You didn't think the lizardlings would force the 'Box of the Stone God' open."

"I could not bring myself to cast it away. Yet at the same time, I did not wish to keep it close." His voice was hoarse. Perhaps he'd passed his two-word-a-month count. He'd have to shut up for years if he was going to average it out again. "You are too young to remember what occurred, I know—but the battle was a terrible one. And the shard, it reminds me too much of that night."

They sat in not-so-companionable silence for a while. Ny stretched herself out comfortably on the floor, but she couldn't go to sleep, not with the next question pressing her mind—the question that would, invariably, send her out on another errand. She hoped he'd let her sleep, first… or do it himself, the _swine_. "So what now?" she muttered. "You know, a _'thank you'_ wouldn't be out of place in this conversation."

It was ages before he answered. Maybe he'd gone to sleep. She peeked just to check—he sat there, holding a small piece of parchment paper in his hand, looking at her just as intently as Amie had when she'd woken up after the Harvest Brawl, only without the excitement. "I need you to go to the city of Neverwinter." Her jaw dropped. "Find my half-brother, Duncan, retrieve the second shard and take it to a mage you can both trust. Duncan owns an inn called The Sunken Flagon. Not the most… reputable place, but safe enough."

Her words came through barely-moving lips. "What about Bevil?"

He shook his head. "No. I know you value him as a friend, but he will be of no help outside West Harbor. He would only slow you down." At her stiff silence, he added, "Bevil is made for… simpler things."

"You know, you should be _respectful_," she snapped, her voice increasing volume. "He _helped_ me back there. I don't care what problem you have with him—you've only been mean and spiteful towards him for putting his life on the line for me."

Daeghun inclined his head politely. "Very well. Let us waste no more time discussing your friend. If you have other questions, ask them."

Ny glared, unwillingly turning her mind to more urgent problems_. Sorry, Bev_. It didn't take long for her to think up one. "What if those things track me down?" she muttered.

"Possible. But this village cannot shelter you or survive another attack. On the road, moving, you have a chance. Once you reach Neverwinter, it may prove to be more difficult for them to attack you."

"That makes me feel better."

"It should."

"Why don't we just dump the shard and save ourselves the trouble?"

Daeghun's slight pause was enough for her to realize he wasn't telling her everything. She felt as if another cornerstone of her trust had evaporated with Amie's charred remains. She swallowed the lump in her throat, unwilling to let the frustrated tears take hold. "The… problem is more complicated than that," Daeghun said slowly. "If we give them the shard, I doubt it will keep them from believing the second one lies here as well." And the last part was so quiet, she barely heard it. "Or others."

"So there's others." _Yay. More trips to swamp ruins. Happy birthday, Ny_. She wondered if it was possible to slit your own throat—that'd be a nice opportunity right now, except she was too tired to reach for the dagger on her belt.

"We only found two," he said. "It is possible there were others, scattered into the swamp, or taken away—or have met other ends."

Ny sighed, a long, drawn-out sigh that seemed to stretch on for two whole seconds. "What else aren't you telling me, Daeghun?" she asked quietly.

"There are many things I've chosen not to tell you," he said quietly, "and that is because they are not relevant. Perhaps if you were to question less and heed my words, it would prevent you from becoming confused."

"Even if what you choose not to tell me can mean the difference between my life and my death?"

It was a long time before Daeghun answered.

"Head to the small port town of Highcliff when you are free of the swamp," he said simply, avoiding the question. "There, seek passage on a ship to Neverwinter. The beasts that attacked us will leave West Harbor once they realize their quarry has fled. If all goes well, you should be in Neverwinter before they find your trail."

"That last time you kept knowledge from me—from the town—my best friend was killed," Ny said softly, a dangerous edge to her voice. She looked back at Daeghun. "And now my other best friend is supposed to stay here with a doomed town while you run around pulling people's strings. I get it now." With some difficulty, she stood. "If something happens to Bevil, I'm going to hold you personally responsible."

Daeghun's face gave nothing away—except for the rapid blinking, a sure sign of stress. At least, she hoped so. "Say your farewells before you depart," he said. "I let some of the others know you are leaving—but not the why. Steel yourself for danger."

"Why aren't you taking it?" Ny asked. "If it's so… simple."

"I was raised amongst the wild elves and for all my years amongst the race of men, they make little sense to me. Even though you are not one of them—you understand them better than I. I have done all I can to hide your presence. If those beasts come again, West Harbor will need me."

_And they'll need me, too_, she thought sadly. "So… that's your farewell then, I suppose."_ I shouldn't be surprised._

"Perhaps one day we will speak again and gain an understanding of each other," he said, even quieter than before.

"I'll go in the morning," she said stiffly. "I need a sleep." Shoulders tense, fists at her sides, she walked up the small stairwell and closed the door behind her, isolating herself from both the fire's warmth and her father's cold calculations.

She slept with the shard clutched to her chest, dreams full of snarling monsters and haughty elves.

--

The next morning, the sun rose just as it always did. The first ray of sun came through Ny'ren's window and stung her eyes. For a moment, she stirred in her bed and rolled over to get it out of her eyes but she fought the urge to slip back asleep.

Even though she was thoroughly exhausted from the night before and had had extreme difficulty getting to bed in the first place, she threw the covers off and sat up. She stretched her arms out and stood on her feet, wobbling at first from residual sleepiness, but maintained her balance as she put her clothes on.

She was awake for about fifteen minutes before she felt it sink in that the previous night had not been a dream. All of the destruction, the killing, the cold-blooded murder had been for real. _Amie_.

Even as Ny glanced out the window, the truth became more apparent. Burning wood, pieces of the pig Amie had deflated during the fair and all manner of debris crossed her vision, forcing tears from her eyes. These people were counting on her, she decided, failure was simply not an option.

Now fully awake, she quickly packed her clothes and some supplies for the long trip ahead. There wasn't much food that could be spared, however her coin purse carried a decent weight. She was just about to thank the gods for that much when she opened up the door and changed her mind.

"Morning, elf girl." She heard Webb Mossfield grumble in her direction. There he stood, the towering, burly bigot himself with a scowl across his face and a travel pack just like hers on his back. His war hammer hung from it.

She didn't know why he had a travel pack on and knew she didn't want to know, so she just responded "It's morning all right, if you'll please excuse me." while hurrying by.

Webb responded by walking in front of her "Look, you pointy-eared squeak, I'm coming with!" He growled "I ain't asking your permission, I ain't offering to help you and I certainly ain't your partner. All I know is that whoever did this is dangerous and you ain't gonna last ten seconds out there without someone watching for ambushes."

It probably should've surprised her that the giant oaf had the presence of mind to eavesdrop on her conversation with her father, but it didn't. Violation of privacy wasn't really the biggest issue on anybody's minds now. "My father said that I'm the only one who can be trusted with the shard."

"So keep your soddin' shard," he spat. "Like I said: _I… Ain't… Your partner_!"

Ny's turned red and she pushed him aside with surprising force. She left him struggling for balance long enough to continue walking by him. After recovering from almost being grounded by a girl, Webb followed her on her way. She increased her pace to a brisk walk just to make sure there was enough distance between them.

Behind her, Webb snorted and followed.

--

"So your father's sent you off to Neverwinter…" Bevil pursed his lips, leaning against the giant oak tree in the front of his yard as if that was the only thing keeping him upright. "As if everything that's happened last night isn't enough adventuring for one lifetime. I'm hoping that you'll be back soon enough after you reach the city, but most people who leave West Harbor don't come back."

Ny leaned against him, his arms wrapped around her shoulders in an uncoordinated, affectionate hug. Her pack lay forgotten at their feet. "Screw Daeghun," she said, voice muffled by the inside of his jacket. "Come with me, Bevil."

He chuckled. "Not that I'm not tempted—Amie would certainly have jumped at the chance… but we lost a lot of folks in the attack, Ny. Hopefully your father's right and there will be no more attacks once the shard is gone, but still… the village will need every swordarm it has. As a member of the militia, it is my sworn duty to defend West Harbor. I can't just turn my back on that. You know that."

"I don't want to leave, Bev," she muttered. "I'll miss you guys." She was trembling, and not because of the soft wind.

"Good luck," he whispered in her ear, bent almost at the waist to reach her. "And if you run across the one that killed Amie, stick a blade through his heart for me. She deserves at least that."

She could hear the villagers working behind her, Pitney Lannon's voice loudest of all among them. They were already beginning to rebuild, a day after the attack. "Webb knows what happened," she said finally. "He says he's coming with me."

She peeked out from under his arm and saw Webb hanging out near the gate, keeping her in plain sight.

"I know. I saw him sneak by the window. Can't say I blame him, no matter how much I hate his guts." This was a different Bevil, no longer caught between the fine line of boy and man. She realized she'd never see him as a _boy_ again. "Are you sure you can't stay another day?"

"No, I can't. Maybe a few more hours, but I want to get out of the swamp by nightfall. Daeghun thinks the creatures are camped somewhere in the swamp, so he and Trian are going to go find the closest campsite, to warn the villagers," she replied, naming Daeghun's wolverine familiar. "I guess if Webb gets tired I can coax Aren into letting him ride her or something. She'll be ticked, though."

"Yeah, the mental thing. Really something…" Bevil sounded lost in thought, and she didn't want to intrude. She began listing all the items she'd packed with her, triple-checking her inventory and wondering if there was anything she'd missed…

_Healing potions, blankets… machetes, bow and arrows… fifty gold, Aren, bracelets… Damn, what am I missing?_

She'd ask Pitney Lannon for an extra beer later for the journey… no, actually, she wouldn't. Better to make the trip as inconspicuous as possible, and Pitney might take offense if she asked for a bottle of his prized beer.

"Don't get hurt, Ny," Bevil whispered in her ear. "I'm going to miss you."

"You're a good man, Bev," she replied, withdrawing just enough from his tight hug to tilt her head up to look at him. "We'll be back. I promise."

His breath misted across her face, smelling of the eggs he must've ate for breakfast. "Ny…"

She had to leave. Now, before she changed her mind. She withdrew completely from the hug, giving him one last squeeze around his rough farm clothes, and bent down to pick up her pack to avoid from seeing his eyes. She hated farewells. She kept her head bent as she walked past him, aiming for the village gate.

"Wait. Ny."

She swallowed the lump in her throat, and turned around. Bevil placed something in her hand, and when she brought it up to look, she smiled. Resting in her palm was the lucky charm Bevil always brought with him, carved in an image of his goddess, Chauntea. "Thanks, Bev. Really." He hadn't parted from it since he was eight—and now he was giving it to her. She felt so deeply and emotionally touched by this one gesture that she almost wanted to cry again.

"I'm not giving it to you," he said, looking away just as she was doing. "I want that back. Extended loan, whatever. Two months, and then I'll start charging you."

"That's real thoughtful, Bev. I love it."

He scratched his neck, as if unsure of what to say. "Yeah, well… I think I hear Locke whining in the house… Might as well go feed him and the others, before… I forget."

No matter what Daeghun said, Bevil was not made for simpler things. He was capable of so much more, not half as dense as Daeghun liked to think. She could only hope that her father would recognize his quality. She really hoped he did. "Yeah… Locke's probably having a panic-attack right now, heh." She scratched the back of her neck, uneasy. "Two months. I'll remember that."

"Yeah..."

"_Hurry it up!"_ Webb Mossfield's complaint carried across the still swamp air.

"I have to go, Bev… Be good until I get back. No uncharted swamp explorations without me, got that? I don't give a damn what Daeghun tells you."

He chuckled. Finally, it seemed as though he could take it any more, and he turned around to walk away. "Farewell, Ny."

--

It remained very much the same with Webb the entire first leg of their journey, Ny'ren speed-walking to keep up with the big, disgusting load she knew was behind her. She swore she could feel Webb's gaze on her as well, which was even more unsettling. Little did Ny know, Webb purposely kept his eyes ahead and to the right.

Ny knew she couldn't keep up this pace, however, and sure enough she soon found herself sitting on a rock to get a pebble out of her shoe.

Webb stopped for no other reason than the fact that he didn't know where they were going, exactly. He just stood there and watched her massage her bare foot while emptying out her shoe.

Bored, he finally opened his mouth "Look, I know we probably hate each other like plague…" he began.

Without looking up Ny responded "… Yes?"

"Well… Look. We ain't gonna get much of nowhere just avoiding each other like this."

Ny nodded and slipped her shoe back on. She mustered up the nerve to look him in the eyes and be polite.

"I imagine you're right, Webb. After all, if you are going to be following me around like a lost pup we might as well make things more comfortable."

"Yeah whatever. Just pace yourself, I don't want to carry you. I'll stay over on this side of the road, you take that side. Deal?" He pointed to the right and left sides respectively.

Ny decided on a nod rather than a handshake and got up and walked on the left side of the road at a normal leisurely pace. Webb took the right side. Both kept their eyes straight ahead.

--

They were on the road for a great deal of time before Webb's curiosity finally overcame him and he had to open his mouth again.

"Look, I need to tell you something." He said looking over "About the reason I came."

"Yes?" Ny's tone was uninterested and she didn't look back.

"I heard your old man say that you had to take this shard of yours to your uncle in Neverwinter."

She nodded.

"And your uncle's a pub owner, a normal guy right?"

"Well. If you count out the fact that he's part elf, then yes, Webb, he is a perfectly normal guy." The air of cynicism in her voice was obvious.

Webb sighed. "Well then what in the hells are we doing here other than covering your pop's ass?"

Ny'ren paused walking for a few seconds and slowly looked over at Webb who had also stopped. "Excuse me?"

"Well yeah, think about it. That shard of yours was obviously stolen from someone important. I'll wager that your old man is just sending it to the last place they'll expect it to be so he can get rid of it." Webb stepped across the road "Maybe give it to his brother to pawn or make it someone else's problem."

Ny couldn't believe what she was hearing. Of all the insensitive and ignorant things to come out of Webb's mouth just today, this had to be the worst. Even after both she and her foster father had almost given their lives to defend the village, including Webb's family, he was accusing them of having something to do with it!

And not only that, but the whole thing seemed like a cover-up game to him, Ny resolved to put this hick in his place right then and there. "Oh that's really great coming from a town bully." She snapped. "Who apparently picks on those smaller than him but just doesn't have it in him to survive more than ten minutes without almost getting his entrails cut out!"

That kicked a sensitive spot, she could tell. Immediately Webb predictably came back with another tirade "Oh, and that means a lot coming from a spear-eared orphan, whose own _father_ didn't want her and whose foster father destroyed an _entire town_ before he was able to find an excuse to finally send her away."

Ny hissed. She just wanted to reach out and slap Webb across the face, hopefully with enough force to break his nose. But she knew that it would only lead to more violence and after last night she just couldn't take any more blood.

So with every ounce of strength she could muster up she restrained herself and bottled up her anger into a single, simple statement "Your sister is ashamed of you!" And she continued walking, Webb following her on the opposite end of the road.

--

The rest of the trip was very trying on the both of them. Ny burned with anger and confusion over what Webb said about Daeghun wanting to get rid of her or cover his tracks. As much as she wanted to deny it, all her life with Daeghun it seemed like he was just looking for a way to criticize her or say what she was doing wrong. And her real father had abandoned her mother.

_But… When mother was killed, Daeghun did take me when he didn't have to. And he cared for me in his own way, right?_ Thoughts raced rapidly through her mind, until she was so flushed with emotion and the heat that she had to find a place to rest. Luckily a sign indicated an inn was coming up ahead so she could rest for the day.

Even though he was still wearing the same tough guy emotion on his face as always, Webb had a lot going through his mind as well. The comment that had been made about his sister being ashamed of him had had a surprising effect on him.

The last day and a half on the whole had a big effect on him anyway, but to think that after he had almost died and his sister had come in harm's way that she would be ashamed of him…

He tried his best to overcome the emotion but something about it kept tugging at his heart. Just the image of his sister's sweet face pouting and scowling with hate at him…

It wasn't even the best taunt in the world, and he knew it wasn't true—but it very well could be. He never even said goodbye to her before he left.

The two of them remained lost in their emotions for the rest of the trip until they reached their destination for the evening. It was a large wooden shack with a tavern on the first floor and signs of several people already staying there. A couple wagons filled with used ale kegs were parked off to the side.

The sign out front caught both their eyes. 'The Weeping Willow Inn.' It read.


	7. Chapter 7

Ny'ren Vollen and Webb Mossfield walked in the door, the latter in front. Ny's eyes swept across the wide, open space with suspicion, but Webb just marched up to the innkeeper behind the bar. There weren't many people in the inn, and that suited Ny just fine. She wandered over to the fire, letting her hand drift across an empty chair as she passed.

She and Webb couldn't have done much more to make it look like they were apart, but since they came in together the innkeeper obviously felt he was being clever when he said, a little too interested for a third party observer, "Room for two?"

Ny saw Webb wince. "We ain't together," he said. "Room for one." The man named his price. He slapped his coins on the counter, and Ny joined him, adding her own coin to the pile. "And another room for one," he added grudgingly.

The innkeeper released two rusted keys from their ring and handed them both to the pair. "Across from each other, end of the hall on your right upstairs," he said.

Webb took his key, hefted his pack, and headed up without even a thank-you. "So that's how it's going to be," Ny muttered, taking hers with a bit less force.

"Is he going to be a problem, here, lass?"

The man was short, balding, with a sheen of sweat caused by the unnatural humidity in the air—and the way he was looking at her gave her little doubt to his intentions. "He's having a rough day," she said by way of explanation. "We both are."

Oh how true it was.

She followed him.

--

Once Webb got to the second floor, he felt slightly claustrophobic. It was barely large enough to accommodate his muscles. He had to strafe sideways, carrying his backpack in his hand to give one of the other guests, a black haired woman, a chance to walk out.

But besides the tight space, the Goddess of Luck must have had a very sick sense of humor this evening. Ny'ren passed him quick enough, slipping by him even with her rather large pack, and disappeared into her room. She shut the door softly behind her. He heard the lock click.

Webb just tossed himself on the bed and closed his eyes. He'd had enough of thinking about elves or their motives for one day. He just listened to the noises outside, the hustle and bustle of guests leaving for the day or coming in. Who would want to stay in a swamp side inn anyway? Only people going in and out of the swamp villages. It was, he reflected, probably the only business that short innkeeper downstairs had, at least during Harvest Fair week.

Somewhere, he drifted, asleep. The faces of his family—dead and alive—starred in his dreams. He dreamt mostly of Wyl and his dad, of memories both good and bad, then the attack. He dreamt of the pain in his chest, the slice that had nearly been his downfall on that bridge…

And then another memory, a memory within a memory, that called to him in the blackest darkness. Heat on his chest, fire, and more fire. Cool hands on his chest, stuffing something into the wound that smelled faintly of grass… He opened his eyes just slightly in the dream and saw the watered-over clear ones looking back at him.

He jerked awake. He stared at the wall for a few minutes, heart hammering, and just lay there trying to calm his racing blood.

--

In Ny's room, she sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the wall. After a while, she leaned back on to the bed, content that her door was locked and nobody could get in without her hearing. Thoughts of Webb, his motives for joining her, and her feelings about it continued to pester her. She couldn't make them go away, so she embraced them. She had to answer these questions. She knew if she didn't, something bad would happen.

Webb was heartless, selfish, and biased towards her kind. Elves were a sore subject for the Mossfield family, and he's sunk his lip deep into that hook ever since he was a kid.

She could remember a time of innocence, a time of wondering why the three brothers never talked to her or even acknowledged her. They were big boys, then, even at six, and her mother Esmerelle had refused to teach her how to fight. She hadn't become friends with Bevil yet, who was equally as big, and she'd thought it would be the best way to learn… to ask the Mossfields.

Webb had been on her team during her first and last mock fight. He'd helped Wyl and Ward beat her up, until she was a bruised and bleeding wreck next to their home. Cormick had found her there, and Retta Starling had brought her back to health by the time Esmerelle had finished her long trip back to Neverwinter. Esmerelle had been furious. The three boys had been scolded and apologized, however gruffly, but she'd been a changed girl after that.

They taught her not to trust anybody, and most of all: never trust a Mossfield.

Their treatment of her hadn't gotten any better. They'd gone for verbal threats, then they started to trip her and boo her when nobody was looking. And when she turned ten and Esmerelle died on top of her during the attack by the King of Shadows—she skipped quickly over that memory—they'd gone on to even more threats. She became fast friends with Bevil and Amie after that, the latter who gently coaxed her out of her grief, and everything had looked up after that.

Then she reached fourteen, and she was suddenly allowed to compete in the Harvest Brawl.

They beat her up.

That was around the time she started hunting with Daeghun, when she'd learned how to summon Aren. She'd learned how to shoot, and she'd learned how to fight. Daeghun wanted her to be prepared. Did he know what was coming nine years post-King of Shadows?

Maybe he did. It didn't make her happy, and only reinforced what Webb had said earlier. She didn't think he was trying to 'pin it' on Duncan (it gave her a secret thrill to say the name, even to herself) but that he had said nothing but the truth, however shaded, when they talked last. Though, of course, Webb didn't have the certainty that years of living with him had given her, and he wasn't one for mental manipulation. He honestly believed in what he was saying, too, though she knew him enough to realize the lie behind his reasons in coming.

Which brought her back to her original question. Why was he here?

The answer came to mind too quickly: he thought that Daeghun, Duncan, and herself were getting into some sort of mystic business. If it didn't work in saving West Harbor, Inu, Ward, and his mother were all screwed. He had personal reasons for wanting to see the shard safe to Neverwinter, but she couldn't trust those reasons.

What if he gave the shard to the githyanki?

It was a scary, pessimistic thought, but she had to think of it. She was literally stuck with him, because she knew his reasons. She'd be stuck looking over her shoulders until this was finished, one way or another. And that meant that the shard could never leave her sight.

Her arm tightened over the pack she'd set next to her, and she reached over to check for the shard and dangled it in the air. The piece of otherwise insignificant silver mystified her, but she could feel the hum of energy seeping through her hands. Without a doubt, now she knew: it had healing properties. Already she could feel her tiredness waning, her bruises beginning to face. The sharp aches and pains in her muscles suddenly retreated.

Mystified, she turned it around in her head, almost giddy with the feeling that was overtaking her.

She couldn't leave it in the pack. Too many pickpockets, especially in Neverwinter. And with another man she doubted she could trust just across the hall, she put it in the one place he or anybody wishing to keep a section of their arm and testicles would never reach until she was dead: underneath her breasts, held there only by the tight underclothes she wore.

The metal was uncomfortable, but it would work for now. She kept one hand on her machete just in case, though, as she drifted off to sleep. There were just certain needs a magic piece of silver just couldn't alleviate.

--

Ny finished her nap and decided to go back downstairs for a beer. She descended the stairs to find the tavern much more alive than when she arrived.

She estimated that it was some time into the evening by now. In the corner a piano player took requests in exchange for tips. The bar was packed with travelers ordering ale and telling stories.

She looked around, no Webb in sight. Perfect.

Ny just sat there on her stool and sipped her beer in peace. Relative peace, anyway, as very drunk men surrounded her and filled her sensitive elf ears with loads of things best left unsaid in polite company.

It was nothing she couldn't deal with though. Pubs were called public houses for a reason anyway.

The evening wore on and the pub got so populous that some of the people had to move upstairs to the second floor balcony which overlooked the bar. Ny noticed that a lot of the people who just arrived were wearing the same outfit.

"Pardon me?" she asked the bartender "What's with all these outfits? Is there something going on that I should know about?" She pointed to some of the men as she spoke.

The bartender didn't answer her right away. He looked quickly around the room at some of the men then looked back at her with a suspiciously grim look and just said "I ain't got nothing to say to you, miss." and turned around to fill up another pint.

_Gee. Whatever happened to service with a smile?_ She thought with another sip.

"Here you are. One more pint, perfect amount of foam." The bartender said to the dwarf sitting next to her, who was in the middle of up-ending his previous pint.

"Ahh! 'Nother sip o' the juices from the fountain a' youth!" he laughed looking over at Ny "Here's to you and your health, lil' missy, whoever you are." He took a hearty gulp and slapped her on the back.

This large slap caused Ny's face to scrunch up. It hurt a little bit, but she got the sense that the dwarf had been holding back, so she just continued minding her own.

"Don't mind the dwarf, ma'am." One of the outfitted men whispered leaning in from out of nowhere "Shield dwarves live up to their names. Large, round and with all the manners and attractiveness of a battered piece of metal."

The man's breath smelled of beer, so Ny just leaned back out and nodded with a quiet "Mm-hmm."

"But I'm human. One hundred and ten percent. Want to find out where the extra ten percent went?"

She felt the man's hands grab her around her hips. Ny's hand instinctively reached around and slapped him on the face, but his only seemed to spur him on.

"Ooh, you must be a wild elf. Cause that's what you're driving me right now, honey buns." He grabbed her again, this time around her bosom from behind so she couldn't move. Ny squirmed and turned to get out of his grasp and managed to get loose enough that she could knock into his nose with the side of her head. She only got one arm loose before being thrown directly to the ground.

Above her, the man was moving towards her but all around her no one was doing anything. The bartender was backed up against the wall, the regular patrons were backing up and the costumed men formed a circle around the action. Ny pulled out her pocket knife to defend herself, but only received a laugh from him in return.

"HEY!" the dwarf jumped from atop his stool and landed between them. "Halt it right there, junior!" he yelled.

"Hey pal, beat it!"

"Why don't you beat it ya' pasty, sauced-up codfish? The lady obviously ain't interested in ya." Khelgar leaned in and shoved the drunk back "So why don't you just sit on down? Or maybe you rather lie down? With the assistance of m'fists!"

From somewhere atop the balcony a voiced called out "Hey, dwarf! You got a problem with my brother, then you've got a problem with me too." A similar looking man looked over the side, though he was clearly much more sober.

Khelgar looked up and laughed "Okay, so I got two twig-necked thugs to deal with 'stead of one. You two and five more like ya ain't any match for Ironfist pride and honor." Khelgar raised his fists when he said 'pride' and 'honor'. Ny couldn't believe he had nicknamed his fists, this bar must have been full of testosterone-addicted fools.

She got to her feet and stowed her pocket knife. The argument between the three men got louder and more violent with each passing second until it came to a crisis and the other brother jumped from the second floor, looking ready to kill. The bartender somehow got brave enough to jump over the bar and tell the men to take it outside.

Khelgar agreed with a nod and started towards the door. The circle of men opened up and let him out. But on their way out, two knives were stuffed into the brothers' pockets by their friends, accompanied by swift pats on the back.

Ny'ren knew what was going to happen. As fast as she could, she ran upstairs to her room to look for her own machetes.

--

Outside the Weeping Willow, Khelgar contemplated his two opponents, scratching his beard thoughtfully. _Who do I knock out first? Tall, drunk and lust-craved or brother-of-a-deep-gnome? Decisions, decisions. Oh well._

The dwarf stood there, empty-handed and chuckling at his own joke. At the same time, the two bullies reached around their backs, setting themselves up to charge.

"So then, my brave boys." Khelgar spoke aloud "You going to try and kill me already or try and stare a hole through me instead?" Their eyes narrowed in distaste at his words, and his suspicions were confirmed. He chuckled again.

"What are you talking about?" the sober one asked harshly.

"Oh nothing, just the two knives that are behind your backs waiting to be pulled," Khelgar answered cheerfully. "You couple of cheaters don't think I've come across worse than you before?"

He could see the gears working in their minds, wondering if they should go through with their plan. They gave each other a silent look of communication, and Khelgar knew again, without asking, that they had to fight or lose face with their gang of hoodlums.

_What's one dwarf against two men with a knife?_ Khelgar thought, amused. _Bah, human arrogance._

There was a sudden movement near the doorway, but the second he flicked his eyes in that direction the two were on the move, charging haphazardly over the uneven ground. Khelgar shuffled to the left, elbowing Sober in the ribs as he swung, and heard the very satisfying sound of a man get the breath knocked out of him.

Beside him, the elf had joined the fray with two large, wicked-looking machetes. She'd somehow gotten on Drunk's shoulders—a nice distraction—but her plan wasn't too well-thought-out. Drunk began to swing around wildly, getting out of Khelgar's range, and brought his arm up to hack her hands off.

Ny disengaged quickly, hitting him on the head as hard as she could with the hilt of her machete before she dropped to the ground. Blood pounded in her head, flushing her face and filling her body with a rush of adrenaline as Drunk came closer, knife held steady. He charged suddenly and awkwardly, and it was child's play to deflect the knife off of her much-larger machete. She had the perfect opening to strike him with a killing blow, and she hesitated.

_I don't want to kill anymore,_ she thought to herself. Drunk reoriented himself and came back swinging.

Khelgar wasn't being quite as moralistic. He was _laughing_, dodging around Sober's well-aimed slices. When the frustration reached its' peak, Sober cried out, "Just die already!" He made another wild swing, and Khelgar caught the man's knife-hand, jerking him closer. "Now if I wanted to dance, I'd've picked your brother."

Sober's response was a headbutt for the dwarf's nose. Khelgar released his hand, backing away. He didn't have to, but he wanted to see what the man had up his sleeve next. _Certainly not an imaginative bunch._

Drunk never gave Ny a simple knock-out opening, though she could've killed him plenty times over. She continued to deflect and redirect with her weapons, hoping that Drunk would just give up and vomit by now, but so far _that_ plan wasn't working out too well.

To make her suckish life even more miserable by comparison, the front yard of the Weeping Willow was littered with obstacles… planks, barrels, rocks, wood-rotted fences… She didn't _think_ she'd trip over anything, but it stressed her out thinking about it.

Drunk was really putting his all into it, unlike her or—as far as she could tell—Khelgar. She could only hope for a good knock-out opening. In his inebriated state, he was in more danger of falling than she was.

"What's the matter?" she taunted. "Not feeling so one-hundred-ten percent anymore? Some _man_ you are!" He let out a growl of frustration and swung just wide enough, leaving her open to slide under his knife arm, back to his ribs. She continued her spin, jamming the hilt of her machete into the back of his knee. He fell to the ground, hitting his head on the fence post that had been behind her, and lay still. Even so, she took a precaution, kneeling on his back with the tip of her blade touching the back of his neck while she retrieved the knife out of his slack fingers. She jammed it on to her belt and got to her feet, throwing a quick glance at Khelgar.

Apparently Khelgar had a short attention span. Even as she watched, the dwarf seemed to get tired of Sober's advances. He ducked under a frighteningly fast jab and let out a ferocious right hook that sent the man falling away. The knife flew out of his hand. Khelgar picked it up and threw it into the bushes, then stepped on Sober's stomach—causing the man to arch in pain—and stepped in front of Ny.

They smiled at each other, but before they could say anything they heard a sudden groan from the audience that sounded all-too-familiar to her ears. _Oh what now, Mossfield?_

Sure enough, Webb Mossfield had attempted to come to the rescue, hammer in hand. It looked like his progress had been hampered from the crowd that had gathered at the door. "Now what'd I tell you?" he asked harshly, pointing at the two men. "Turn my back on you for a _second_ and you come _this_ effing close." He pinched his forefinger and thumb together to make a point.

Ny's breathing was quickly returning to normal, the adrenaline fading away. But Khelgar answered for her, still chuckling underneath his breath. "Now, you didn't have to help me out there, lass. Not that I don't appreciate it, mind." He looked over at Sober and Drunk, the latter who was beginning to stir, and said, "Come back in, I owe ye a tankard for your efforts."

--

At a previously-empty table, Khelgar leaned back, looking way too comfortable to only be hanging out for a short while. Webb had opted to stay outside for the time being—the gang members had gone outside to check on their fallen, and Webb had wanted to make sure they would stay out there. "So, elf—" She was getting tired of being called that, "—what's your name?"

She said the first thing that came to her lips. "Amie Fern. Yourself?"

"Khelgar Ironfist. I'm surprised ye haven't heard o' me yet. Been making my way throughout the Sword Coast for about a year now. Drinking pups like that under the table, then when things get boring, start up a fight to pass the time. Once he's done regurgitating I'm thinking o' rubbing it in his face a bit unless he and his buddies decide whether or not to continue up the road."

"I'd almost welcome a fight," she muttered. "My partner and I've walked more than a few leagues on our way here."

"Are you from Highcliff?" Ny noticed that when he talked, he seemed to vary from a civilized language to dwarvish. He'd slipped out of his 'ye's and was getting back into his 'you's. A man of both worlds, it seemed.

She shook her head. "One of the swamp villages. We're heading to Neverwinter to check up on my uncle." Even now, it gave her a thrill to say it and for it to be true. She had an uncle, and the fact Daeghun didn't like him was a better bonus. Maybe he wasn't as bad as her own foster-father was. She felt her mind stray to the thought of an uncle every few minutes. She wondered what he looked like, what he acted like… Daeghun had called him a 'half-brother' with unmistaken dislike in his voice.

"Me, too. Maybe we'll meet on the road."

She honestly didn't know if she wanted to be walking beside the dwarf or not—he seemed hyperactive, a drunkard, and eager to get in a fight. But she smiled anyway and said, "It'd be nice to have somebody civil to travel with."

"Civil?" Khelgar repeated.

Ny jerked her head towards the door leading outside. "I never said Webb and I were friends. He doesn't like elves."

"Bah, and I don't like humans," he said. "Stink too much and pass gas too loud. I wasn't joking about that drinking game, Amie—elves have a stronger constitution than half the soldier's in Nasher's army, I'm betting."

"I've never tested that before," she said, chuckling. "But I knew you would win. Rumor around my village is that a dwarf could drink a Nighthawk under the table."

"Aye, but could a dwarf drink a dwarf Nighthawk under the table, I wonder?"

"I'm sure there's plenty in Neverwinter." She barked out a laugh at a thought. "We could just go up to Lord Nasher and ask him if we could _borrow_ one…"

Khelgar, either in good spirits because of the victory or likeable by nature, laughed. "Aye, that's a good one, lass. If we ever see him, I'll be sure to ask if only to see his face." They chuckled into silence, then he said, "So what's your real name?"

Surprised, she said, "Ny'ren. How'd you know?"

"Most people with something to hide don't tell it at first, and to be honest, lass, you look like you're hiding something." He took a sip of his drink, leaving her floundering. Then he set it back on the table and said, "Don't worry, I won't go spreading it around."

She glared at him, then decided it wasn't worth it. She shrunk back into her chair and closed her eyes. "My village was attacked," she muttered. "I'm only afraid that the ones who attacked me will try to find me."

He frowned. "What do they look like?"

"Like…" She tried to find the words to describe the bladelings. "Red elves with little spikes all over them. And dueger."

The mention of the sister species brought goosebumps to Khelgar's arms, and he clutched his fists. "Dueger," he spat. "Good-for-nothing scum is what they are. Will do anything for a coin, the bastards." He took a deep swig of his ale and made a face. "Tastes just like water, it does," he muttered angrily.

"You should've seen them all fall," Ny said wistfully. "I never killed a person before, but I did a lot of it that night. We managed to capture one of them, then I slit its throat for killing my friend Irine."

"Aye," he said sadly. "It's war that is. Makes us do things we wouldn't normally do. Adrenaline." He snorted. "I hope you don't feel bad about it. That the reason you didn't kill the guy out there?"

"I feel… sad, actually. Sad that they were so enslaved in their own selfish desires that they would burn down a village for few coin and a helm or two. And I guess I'm just tired of the killing."

"Why are they chasing you?" Khelgar pressed.

She shook her head. "My secret."

Khelger leaned back with a grunt, then shrugged. "You're a strange elf, lass. Wisp o' a thing, sure, but I haven't heard one word about the swamp and the trees so I guess yer okay."

_Don't trust anybody but yourself_. Daeghun's 'words of wisdom' whispered inside her head.

"So why do you need to go to Neverwinter?" Ny asked, struggling to change the subject.

"House o' monks there… a monastery, right? Said they'll take anybody in for fightin' training, just for the asking… what?"

"A monk."

"Yeah?"

"A dwarven monk."

"Ain't stranger than half o' the things I've seen in Faerûn, I'll tell you that."

She conceded the point. "What made you decide?"

He winked. "My secret."

She raised her eyebrows, then snorted. "Sorry I'm not much of a talker," she said. "It's been a very long day."

"Aye, I can imagine. Yer eyes are all sunken-like. When was the last time ye slept?"

Touched—and somewhat disturbed—by the dwarf's concern, she replied, "A day ago, nearing two. I think I stayed up most of the night during the attack. Slept three hours, and now me and His Royal Headache are here. He's lucky. He was out of the fight early, ad he's still complaining," she grumbled.

He made a small 'humph' sound in the back of his throat. "That's not a way to treat a fair lass like yerself," he said grumpily.

She shrugged self-consciously. "It's his own fault he got hurt."

"He's walking, ain't he?" the dwarf pointed out.

"Please, I don't like being treated differently because I'm a girl," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "I can actually fight better than he can."

"Heh, you're short—like me, but then again all them tree-lovers are short. But you don't look like a fighter… naw, not enough muscle."

She smiled, displaying her pointed teeth that had once bit into a man's wrist a lifetime ago. "You don't think?"

He laughed out loud, causing the other patrons to give him second looks. "I like ye," he decreed. "Knew there's a reason I decide to come over here."

"You're not so bad yourself," she said. She looked over at the bar maid, who had finished cleaning and had taken back her position behind the bar. "Ma'am? Two of your strongest."

Khelgar let out a whooping laugh. "Now yer talking my language, elf."

She gave him a false glower. "Not for competition purposes. I don't need a hang over tomorrow. And you can call me Ny. All my friends do." _And some enemies_, she added to herself, thinking of the man outside.

As the bar maid put the two foaming cups of beer on the table, Ny passed her a few gold coins for her troubles and assured her she wasn't stupid enough to challenge Khelgar to a game of constitution. She took a hesitant sip—the bitter, slightly sweet taste of beer flowed past her tongue, and the smell of alcohol hit her like a wall… but after a few sips she realized that Khelgar wasn't joking about it being watered down.

Khelgar set down his half-empty mug with a belch. "So when are you headed out, lass?"

"Tomorrow if I can. I can't exactly go back anymore, can I?"

"Maybe they'll catch up," Khelgar said, an eager glint in his eye that she automatically distrusted. "You said yerself you'd welcome a fight."

"I would…" she said hesitantly. "Maybe I'm just a coward. Maybe I want to face them at Fort Locke, where the Greycloaks will help."

"Or here, with a willing dwarf at your side and a couple o' drunks," Khelgar shot back. "Don't know if ye heard, but the Fort's in enough trouble with damned bandits."

"Is that why the patrols stopped?" she asked curiously. The Fort had stopped it's regular patrols along the High Road about a month before, and the roads were as unsafe as ever before. About two weeks ago when the merchant caravans were coming in Pitney Lannon's farm was invaded by lizardlings, and the only reason it wasn't burned to the ground was because a ranger was in the area. And then the attack on West Harbor…

Khelgar shrugged. "I don't know, lass, but…"

She was aware he was talking, but something prevented her from listening. The hairs stood up on the back of her neck, and her heart pounded with an unspoken fear. She cast her eyes over the establishment: everything was how it had been before, but the subdued argument that had been taking place outside had stopped…

A figure opened the door. It wasn't Webb.

She registered something in his hand, a long, rusty dagger…

"…for all of them, I'd bet. Somebody needs to teach 'em some sense…"

In doubt, Ny tried to speak, but her tongue was furred to the roof of her mouth.

She could just make out the green clothing, and realized it just in time—the drunken misfits had come back for revenge.


	8. Chapter 8

There were at least ten of them, including Drunk and Sober from outside. Only the leader had his knife out, but the others looked ready for a good night of fun. Ny stood slowly, a hand on her machetes. Khelgar followed her line of sight, grunted, and pushed back his chair to get up, too.

_Where's Webb?_

Ah, there he was. Sporting a long cut to the forearm and dripping blood on the wood, he had his hammer in his hand. He joined them at the table, his face a mask of indignation. Their leader—the one with the knife—only laughed at Webb's foolishness. "Guess we couldn't persuade you after all," he said. "Oh well."

The cut on his arm suddenly took new significance. _Oh._ It looked painful.

"Leave us alone," Ny'ren said softly, sliding out her machetes. "Do you really think that hurt pride is worth one of your lives?" It wasn't something she'd ever thought she'd say—maybe only in daydreams when she was working on the farm—and it gave her a chill to say them out loud and mean them. Esmerelle was always sticky about being polite, even to your enemies.

"What about yours?" Drunk drawled.

Beside her, Khelgar cackled, reaching behind his back for the ax attached there. "They're the ones escalating it, not us. This should be interesting."

Sober glared at the dwarf, and Ny nearly scooted over to the side a bit to get Khelgar out of his line of view, then pulled back; Khelgar wasn't the type to be coddled. No dwarf was, she could guess.

"What are you planning on getting out of this?" she asked curiously. She could feel Webb's wall of anger behind her, but she tried not to let herself catch it. Any weakness, and they would lunge.

The one with the knife smiled. "You're a pretty girl. You probably know a few things…"

The meaning sunk in, and her stomach twisted violently. She felt her lip curl in spite of herself and said through gritted teeth, "Try me."

"You'll have to get through me ax then," Khelgar said sharply.

Webb lifted his hammer threateningly.

Ny could feel it—all the tension in the room, strained to a breaking point. There would be no way to talk herself out of it, which left only one thing to do… attack first. Amie and Bevil would've understood, but Webb and Khelgar… _Amie, why'd you have to die?_ She didn't allow the grief to get her, through, and tried to concentrate on the rusty blade in front of her.

If it stuck her, it'd probably poison some part of her. Great.

She took a step backwards, setting herself into a good stance as she took out her machetes. He didn't give her another chance to move, but neither did Webb. He met the leader head-on with a solid smack to the stomach from the hammer's end. He folded over like a rag doll and fell, unmoving, to the ground.

A beat of silence. "Anybody else?" Webb challenged, his voice laced with boiling anger.

There were a few shocked gasps from the surrounding others, and then they were on them like flies to light.

Ny automatically slipped to the side, pressing her back against Webb's to avoid a double-attack from Drunk and Sober. She'd had enough with their antics, and decided it was finally time to take them out of the fight. Her machetes flashed, and Drunk's knife-hand fell to the ground. Khelgar whacked Sober hard in the ribs with the butt of his ax, and when he didn't fall he did it three more times, each one harder than the other. Sober tripped over his own feet trying to get away, and when his head was within reach Ny kicked him as hard as she could. He lay still. Drunk had stumbled back out of the way, clutching at his injured hand like he couldn't believe it was gone.

She could hear Webb's grunts of effort behind her, and automatically knew something was wrong. His breathing was too shallow, too fast for her liking. His shoulders were beginning to shake slightly under some kind of pressure. Ny and Khelgar were soon joined by more problems, and she could only hope that Webb could last…

He couldn't. From her peripheral vision, she saw his hammer clatter to the ground, but more worrying was his strained breathing. She could literally hear the knife whizzing behind her to reach her target, and she gave her life up to chance to spin around Mossfield and blocked it with her left machete. A rough hand grabbed her right hand and twisted it the wrong way—hard. Something pinched a nerve, and her weapon dropped. "And the other one," a snarling voice said in her ear.

It dropped to the ground with a clatter.

_Pain compliance. _She hated it.

The action had suddenly stopped, and she saw Khelgar being backed up, ax-less, away from them. "Are you okay, Webb?" she whispered. The hand on her wrist tightened its' hold, and she let out an involuntary hiss of pain.

"My chest," Webb whispered, his tone interlaced with misery. "I'm _sorry…_"

The hand twisted harder. Ny was up on her toes, trying to keep her cry to herself.

"Check the Captain," one of them muttered. Somebody that currently _didn't_ have a sharp implement for killing placed in their line of sight knelt down at the Captain's body. She could see the white of bone protruding from his chest in a sickly image, and she closed her eyes.

She could've just been six years old again, getting beat up by Webb Mossfield and his brothers just for being an elf.

A low whistle. "That ain't good…"

But just as they seemed surrounded for the last time, a loud cry of pain sounded out and caught everybody's attention. Behind the thieves, one of their own was being held in a hammerlock by none other than the hooded woman. No longer hooded, however, her coal black hair flowed down her neck and seriousness shone in her bright green eyes.

"Get her!" someone yelled. An arm closed around Ny's neck, dragging her to the floor. She watched, wide-eyed, at the action. Four of the thieves turned around and ran towards the woman screaming.

Using her hostage as a human shield, the woman backed up one step and lunged forward kicking him into two of the others and knocking them down. Reacting instantly, she punched the third one straight in the face and slipped her sleeve over the sword of the fourth, yanking it from his hand. The second the sword hit the ground, she slid it backwards and followed it to the stairs.

Once she got there, the four gangsters had already recovered and were just getting ready to charge her again when she tore open the buttons of her cloak in one movement and spun around, throwing it at them. She followed up by dodging to the right and clothes-lining the unarmed fourth one to the ground.

After these events had finished unfolding, Ny'ren watched in awe as the woman, who now sported a dark shirt, vest, leather pants and heeled boots, unsheathed a rapier from her belt. With the precision of a fencing master she bobbed and weaved around the remaining thieves and stabbed their sword arms so they couldn't fight. When the last one fell to the ground in pain, she spun around and glared at the one on top of her.

The arm dug in harder to Ny throat, choking her. She gasped and sputtered, then made her chin drop to open some space. "Who are you?! Tell me why you are here and what interest you have in these out-of-towners!" he yelled at the woman.

Her eyes narrowed as she answered "I am no one and yet I am enough to slice you limb from limb if you refuse to let them go."

All this earned her was a skeptical look "You think I'm going to let any of you go after that?"

"If you're half the men you proclaim yourselves to be, the wounds should heal." The woman spoke softly, cracking her neck "If however you wish to show off your testicular fortitude on my account, I can't be held responsible for your permanent injuries. Death possibly being among them."

His eyes widened and hers squinted with a challenge in them, making the room seem like it was standing still. Ny's heart beat nervously, her eyes darting between them. All it seemed she could do was sit there and choke, waiting for them to work it out themselves.

Finally, he seemed to make a decision. He jumped off of her and ran out the door—the rest followed soon behind. Ny didn't watch—she crawled towards Webb, who had been taken to the ground during the fight. His breathing was still bad. She rolled him on to his back and found his eyes. "What's happening? What can I do?"

"My chest hurts," he said matter-of-factly. "But we're getting… better."

She searched his face for the pains he'd seen earlier. "We need to fix you up."

He shook his head mutely, and lay there panting. His eyes rolled sideways, looking at their rescuer. All the other patrons had fled upstairs during the fight, Ny noted, and were now peeking out the door to check and see if they were all gone. Comprehension dawned on Webb's face. "West Harbor--!"

Ny looked up quickly, her eyes meeting the serious green ones of the female that had rescued them. "Who are you?" she asked, albeit sharper than intended.

The woman stared back with the same stare that seemed as though it was permanently displayed on her face. She hesitated for a few tense seconds before she answered evenly "As I said, I am nobody."

Getting to her feet Ny kept her eyes on the woman's as she spoke. "Do I really look like I'm in the mood for jokes?"

"No, you merely asked a stupid question. One that had already been asked by your former captor. If you want to know something, ask the right questions."

Ny exhaled and crossed her arms. Her jaw set, she realized that the woman was indeed _not_ joking.

_She could've had something to do with West Harbor. It isn't a coincidence she's here... following us?_

"All right, fine." She said finally. "Be that way. Then answer this one: why were you in West Harbor? Don't even bother to deny it," she added when she opened her mouth, "because I _saw_ you."

The woman's expression softened up a little. "I was looking for the druids who lived nearby," she explained. "They had disappeared, so I went to town to find them."

"Then why did you disappear before the town was attacked?" Ny shot back.

"By the time the Fair was over, I'd given up hope of finding the druids in your swamp village," she explained patiently. When her eyes flicked over to Webb's form on the floor, Ny shifted her legs so his head was out of sight. "On my way out I kept asking my questions, but got no conclusive answers. There was nothing left for me at the village, so I departed."

Even as she talked, though, Ny could tell something was out of place--most specifically in her mannerisms.

Her eyes _seemed_ like they were staring honestly back at Ny, but she'd never paid attention to such a look since Wyl Mossfield offered to teach her how to defend herself and ended up beating the Nine Hells out of her. In the middle of a sentence, the woman would blink only once.

"So you're saying you had no idea that there were these stinking, trespassing githyanki in our swamps?" Ny countered. "Or did you leave because of them?"

Another blink. "I circled back when I saw the smoke, and I saw you enter the lizardmen's ruins with your friend, then come out. You entered a house and didn't leave until morning."

As she continued to listen, Ny noticed something unusual in the woman's voice. It was as though the woman was not using her normal one and had to work to maintain the effort.

This of course came courtesy of Ny's heightened senses, but it all meant nothing without a reason. She may have had Khelgar and Webb fooled, but the elf girl was convinced that the other woman was hiding something.

The woman waited patiently, and when Ny didn't say anything she asked, somewhat impetuously, "Have I answered the rest of your questions?"

_Yes. Cryptically and without revealing much._ "I guess so. Except your name."

"I can't tell you my name. It's… Complicated. Just call me what you want."

Behind her, Webb was still injured and needed to be attended to. So Ny just picked the thing that occurred to her the quickest when she looked at the woman. "Okay then... Raven. Come down here and give us a hand with Webb's arm."

Once she realized again that Webb was hurt, Raven's expression quickly changed. She undid her sword belt and laid it on a table, before getting on one knee and calmly examining the wound with a small smile tugging at her lips. Almost as if her personality had gone directly from a warrior to a nurse.

"He looks quite savable, but we should get him upstairs to a bed." She said taking him by the hand and slipping his arm around her shoulder.

Webb had already bled quite a bit and taken a beating. So even though he was loath to do so as usual, he had to accept help from others to move. At least this time he didn't bother trying to vocally refuse it. "Right. Come along now, you big scary man," Ny grunted, slipping his other arm around her shoulder and hoisting him up.

Khelgar had seen worse in his time, so he stayed downstairs briefly to "borrow" some ale before the cowering bartender came back from wherever it was he ran. After filling up another tankard, he joined them upstairs.

Working together the two women ascended the stairs and brought Webb back to his room. It wasn't easy, the giant that he was, but they managed to navigate the hall and get the door to his room open. Slowly and carefully, Raven and Ny positioned Webb and lowered him into the bed on his back. Once again, Raven went to work.

The dark-haired woman procured a needle and thread from the hollow handle of her dagger and prepared it.

"I can sew wounds, but even after I have he'll still be in a considerable amount of pain." she explained

"Will he be okay, though?" Ny asked in an uncharacteristic tone, given the circumstances.

"He should heal just fine, like I said. I always keep an emergency potion on hand for situations such as this."

Raven turned around modestly and loosened the strings in her shirt so she could retrieve the vial of green liquid from between her breasts. The cork was attached to the string of her necklace. Ny made a sound somewhere between a snicker and a scoff when she saw this.

"Honestly, a pouch couldn't have sufficed? You _had_ to stash it in your bust?"

Even though Raven struggled to uncork it without spilling it, she couldn't suppress an amused smile. "You must be the third person to tell me that since I made this necklace." _POP!_ The cork came out. "My parents both hated it when I so much as suggested I possessed… Attractive features. Hold his mouth closed."

Raven gestured to Webb and poured the contents of the vial into his mouth. Predictably, it tasted terrible and he gagged on the bitter liquid before swallowing. Ny watched him anxiously, second-guessing her sudden, strange trust of this woman.

Within a few minutes, Webb was relaxed and lying back on his bed. In fact, even though he had just been seriously injured for the second time since West Harbor, Ny dared think that this was the most peaceful she had seen him.

"Let's go, he'll need to rest up and I need to go back to my room," Raven whispered.

Even though she was still quite suspicious of the woman, Ny felt grateful to Raven for using her only potion to help Webb. She knew she had to compensate her in some way, it was only fair.

"How much do those cost to make, what goes in them?" she inquired, pointing to the necklace.

"Oh they're easy to make. I just use a secret ingredient that I keep on me at all times."

"Useful," Ny muttered. She glanced back at Webb worriedly. It was a new emotion for her; for all of her life, the Mossfields had dominated in their way, blocking out sunlight and always bringing a razor sharp of pain with every encounter. Caring for him, fighting beside him...

It felt like it was changing her. And not in a good way.

"Don't worry about him," Raven said in a soothing voice that didn't really help at all.

"If he dies because of me I'll never be able to go back," Ny muttered, surprised that the words had come out of her lips. "Webb's a bully... But give him a bigger enemy than a little elf, and suddenly he's on your side."

"It's a strange world," Raven agreed.

"And there will probably be more attacks on the way to Neverwinter... don't look surprised, you had to have known that's where we were going."

Raven smiled slightly. "Maybe, yes."

They stopped in front of a closed door, presumably leading to her room. Raven pushed the door open almost casually. Ny peered under her arm to see what exactly the lady had brought with her, and noticed a sudden movement to her left. Ny twisted away, back to the wall, just as a wooden mug of beer flew her way and cracked along the wall.

Raven had frozen, though, her eyes suddenly wide. Wet ale dripped down her face, and for the first time Ny noticed a texture there, a bevel she'd never noticed before. Raven was suddenly moving, pulling her cowl above her head and rounding on the barman.

_Oh. _Ny could see it now--the barman had escaped during the fight and into Raven's room. He must've been adrenaline-high and thrown the cup at them. Even as she processed this new information, Raven hissed, "Get out of my room! _Get out!"_

The barman scrambled out, making hasty apologies, and Ny took a deep breath to calm her racing heart. "Did he take anything?"

Her eyes fell on a makeup case, smashed and broken near the area the bartender had been hiding, but that was the only damage she could see. It was a terrible loss, but Raven stared at its ruined contents like they'd contained thousands of priceless jewels. The mascara had run into the foundation, destroying it, and the glass bottle storing the liquid concealer had ruptured all over the applicators.

Raven didn't respond to Ny's inquiry, she instead came to her knees above the mirror and looked down at it. With the hood up and her facing away, Ny couldn't tell whether she was trying to somehow fix the smashed makeup case or if she was looking down and crying about her loss.

She stepped further inside the room and suddenly stopped dead in her tracks when Raven's hand came up. "Stop, right there." She said warningly at first before putting her hand down and continuing "Please tell me you have a makeup case."

"Lady, I'm a ranger. The closest thing I have to makeup is dirt." Ny responded. She wondered if this sudden development had anything to do with that difference she had seen in the woman's skin. _A scar perhaps? No it couldn't have been, it was just a trick in the light… Right?_

Ny decided to act on her earlier feelings and backed up and went out the door. "I'm sure it's just fine." She said in as sympathetic a way as possible "Just wipe off what's left and wash your face. I'm going to my room." She closed the door slowly and purposely shut it on her fingers so that the slit left in the doorway could be used to spy.

Ny faked walking back to her room down the hall and then tip-toed back and put her face up to the door.

Inside the room, Raven was still on her knees and looking down at the crushed case. But something unusual had begun to happen. She was now rubbing her fingers on the wood floor and trying slowly at first to scrounge up something, anything, from the scattered contents.

She started out just rubbing her index finger into the concealer and trying to bring it up. She repeated this a couple times but from the look of things the makeup had long lost its use.

Ny thought she had been discovered when Raven's hood turned towards her a little, but luckily she stopped short. In her hand, Ny could see the remnants of the mirror the bartender had stepped on. The woman's hand tensed dangerously around the shards as though she was about to tighten her hand and fill it with glass at any given moment.

Raven just stayed there and sighed deeply. This was clearly more of an issue than just a smashed makeup case. Ny couldn't decide whether to let it go and let her calm down or investigate further.

_WHAM!_ The mirror hit the wall and shattered into a million pieces. Raven got up and threw off her cloak in frustration. Her face was a mess. Even from across the room Ny noticed clearly where the beer had hit her. Raven reached into one of her cloak's pockets and picked out a handkerchief, wiping off what was left of her ruined cosmetics.

As she did this, the woman's face slowly began to change. She couldn't believe it had been so well concealed earlier, but underneath what used to look like normal human skin Ny could now see strange patches of… Were those scales?

"It's okay. You can come in now. My secret is obviously out." Raven said aloud with a sigh just before she finished wiping the last of it off.

Ny opened the door and stepped inside then shut the door behind her so they would not be disturbed.

"All right, lady. I want some real, conclusive answers this time." Ny demanded while Raven looked down at the floor like a child caught in a lie by her mother.

Raven sat on the bed and Ny took a chair in the corner. Unexpectedly, Ny was told everything in detail. The reason Raven had given them for being in West Harbor was true, but she had left out the reason she was traveling. As a child she had been orphaned and now she was on a quest to discover her identity.

She was told by her village leaders to find a band of druids and seek their council. When the druids were not in the spot she was told, she went to the town to look. However, her reason for wanting to follow Ny was unusual.

"I received a revelation from my goddess to watch but not to intervene in your progress near the Lizard Ruins." Her eyes did not blink when she said this.

"And your goddess is...?"

"Angarradh," Raven answered. "Elven goddess of fertility." She waited patiently for more questions, and when none were forthcoming she continued. "After I left your village, I meditated on what to do. I couldn't think of anything to do--why did I have to follow you? So I awaited your arrival. I thought I recognized your large friend, but I wasn't sure until I saw you interact. I decided to wait you out, try to discern a meaning from my goddess. But when the fight came to a climax, I had to step in."

"It would seem fate," she said, "has given me direction in the form of you. With your permission I would like to travel with you to your destination... to find clues to my identity along the way."

"Well, I don't imagine you could have become any better a liar in the last few minutes," Ny said carefully. "So I suppose I believe you."

"Does this mean you'll permit me travel with you to Neverwinter?"

"Before I make my decision, you have to tell me your name."

The room was silent for a few seconds before she opened her mouth and answered matter-of-factly in her true voice. "Tasha." She hissed with a smile "Tasha Y'leni."


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's note: We've finally gotten the latest chapter to you after much deliberation and collaboration amongst ourselves. She and I have been busy with school among numerous other things, but you people have always been on our minds. We thank you very much for your patience and ask that you please continue to read and review! And now, back to what you came for.**

The road was simple: it was long, it was a workout, and when you weren't trying to get a damn strap untangled from a vine you were watching the swamplands for the creatures eying you up for their next meal.

Ny'ren Vollen felt suitably chastised as she led the way, her calves burning from the steep dips in the land. Fortunately her work as a farmer had prepared her toned muscles for the long walk. It did not, however, prepare her for the mental agony she felt at being plucked up from her home and tossed into the wild, or how the fate of her friends depended on her being able to stay a step ahead of her pursuers.

She'd once imagined taking this road with Bevil and Amie, but that was a hope long diminished. Instead, she was traveling with an axe-happy dwarf, a suspiciously silent yuan-ti, and a childhood rival who'd helped his brothers beat her senseless just because she was an elf.

Webb was walking next to Khelgar, behind Tasha. Ny'ren, with her empathetic mind, could feel the consternation welling up inside of the human as he looked upon them. He had no love for elves--and how could he, when his father had all but beaten it into him--but even in the civilized world yuan-ti were frowned upon nearly as much as drow elves. Ny wasn't sure if she liked the woman yet or not, and decided to keep a safe emotional distance from her until she'd proven her worth.

_Prove her worth. Prove _my _worth._

Daeghun, with all his riddles and half-truths, actually meant something to her. She hated his descisions with a passion and wished him harm sometimes, but he'd taken her in when Esmerelle died. It explained a lot of things about him and unexplained a lot of others.

_Why would he take me in if I reminded him of the past?_ She wondered, and not for the first time in her life. Her relationship with her guardian--and he was her _guardian,_ not a real _father_--was strained at worst and cordial at best. After the Mossfields had beaten her up, he'd taught her how to fight; he'd given her a magical figurine that would call a loyal friend to her at need; he'd showed her the way of the woods and forests; and, most of all, he'd taught her how to defend herself so she'd never been humiliated again.

Daeghun Farlong was her teacher and her guardian. She'd stayed with Bevil's family more often than not, or sometimes she walked the town with Brother Merring and listened to his sermons about the Morninglord.

"What god do you pay penance to?" he'd asked her once. She was only seven years old, dressed in the rough clothing of a farmer's daughter. She was shorter than the average child, thin as a willow-wand. Her long hair had been brushed back behind her ears, showing the ice-blue eyes that made her stand out so much from the other elves she'd never met. The town was quiet, as it normally was, and several recognizable figures were out in the yard doing their various chores.

Ny didn't understand his question. "What do you mean?"

"Which one do you yourself pay tribute to? Chauntea, the Morninglord?"

"I can only choose from two?" she asked, wincing. "I thought there were a lot of gods."

And so began her teachings. Daeghun, though it was his responcibility, had only briefly touched on the other gods during their small talks. He of course worshipped Chauntea because he was a farmer, but Ny didn't like farming. So Brother Merring began to tell her of the Morninglord, Umberlee, Kelevmor and Myrkul, Ilmater, and all of the other gods she did not know about. Their stories were _fascinating,_ and Ny couldn't help but ask every question that came to her mind.

"Do gods have personalities?" she asked him.

Yes, the gods had their own personalities as humans and every intelligent race did. Only they were wiser than the wisest creatures, watching out for those who practiced in their beliefs. There were rivalries, of course, and favorites and allies. It was such a complex hierarchy that Brother Merring brought her to him home and wrote them down in order for her so she would never forget.

Her lessons about the gods went on for weeks, and gradually her questions began to slow and narrow down. She enjoyed the tales of Ilmater and how he helped people the most, but she found herself drawn to Lord Kelevmor, the God of the Dead. But he wasn't scary, Merring told her. He was _justice._

And the questions led to the Wall of the Faithless, which, from her understanding, was where people ended up if they served no god.

"The gods gave us everything we have," Merring said with the conviction of one who truly believed his words. "Why should we sham them by not paying penance? Why should we ignore the supernatural in our lives?"

"That's mean," Ny agreed.

Soon the time came when she was making spiritual offerings to Kelevmore, Ilmater and Mieliki. Brother Merring became indispensable for all of his knowledge, but soon, gradually, even her curiosity faded. She began to think, as all small children did as they reached puberty, that she knew everything about the gods. Therefore they were no longer interesting and though her talk about them faded her love did not. In fact, some of her dreams consisted of Kelevmor passing his Judgment on others.

It wasn't past her tenth birthday when the dreams she began having became true in a weird sort of way. She never saw Kelevmor or Ilmater or Mielikii in her life, because in fact her dreams about them never really did come true. The dreams of her friends and acquaintances features chiefly in her thoughts. When she began to say her dreams were becoming true, however, nobody believed her.

Except Amie.

_I miss you, Amie... We had a lot lot of fun together, didn't we?_

_And your body was charred and broken when I last saw it..._

The image of her friend's dead body and Bevil's torn, longing face behind her gave new strength to her limbs consisted mostly of frustration. She took a step harder than necessary on a dried trunk that had overturned on the grassy hillside and felt her boot lodge in the innards with a giant crack.

She stopped, her lips pursing together in frustration. _With all the damn--Ugh, just watch where you're going!_

Behind her, she heard Webb snicker.

"Just keep laughing," she mumbled under her breath, too low for a man or a dwarf to hear it.

But not, it seemed, a yuan-ti. Tasha was suddenly by her side and looking on as if she wanted to help but didn't know how. "You're frustrated, Ny'ren," Tasha said softly, her expression softening with her words "Frustration doesn't win battles. Especially against logs."

"A log, bog, whatever," Ny'ren muttered back. "Let us keep moving." She wiggled her foot out of the hole and glanced up at the cloudless sky. "The sun is beginning its descent. We should pick up the pace."

"Lass, the fort isn't going to pick up its foundation and go walking away now," Khelgar said, leaning on his ax. He'd been using the metal weapon as a staff the entire way, using it as a conversation point with Webb Mossfield after they left the Inn.

"Yeah." Webb pushed his brown hair out of his eyes in an antagonizingly familiar gesture that reminded her strangely of a shorter, stockier Bevil with a metal club. "So what if the giths find us? I'd like nothing more than to rue their day."

Khelgar chortled dangerously. "You and me both, laddie." He patted the top of his axe, notched from their recent encounter with the drunks. "What say we set up camp here and let them come to us?"

"I say no," Ny said firmly, leaving no room for argument. "The only reason we're still walking is so they won't get the shard." She pressed a hand to her inside pocket, which she'd hastily sewn in before leaving the Inn. The metal seemed to steal the very warmth from the air around it because it was still very cold to her touch. The cold was strengthening, though, feeling just like a piece of ice during winter on a bad cut or bruise. The black marks from their fight had already began to fade, and she was debating whether or not to pass along the shard to Webb, who was obviously still hurting.

Webb did not like Tasha _at all._ In fact, Ny'ren was sure that if they were alone Webb wouldn't hesitate to bash her brains in with his hammer. He certainly wasn't happy when he realized that the venom she'd used to heal him somewhat had come from her mouth. It had taken a lot of time and a lot of persuading to make him drop her machetes and play nice.

Even now he'd insisted on walking behind them both to keep a better eye on them, making derogatory comments as they went on. His nicknames were many and varied, all equally creative. 'Snake-Eyes,' 'Lizard-breath,' 'Fishy,' 'No-Tail,' and 'Skunk-Meal' were the more polite of the terms he used. None of them seemed to get any visible reaction from Tasha except the last one, which caused her simply to look back at him with one eyebrow raised and her usual neutral look on her face.

After they'd set off, Ny'ren had noticed that his chest seemed to keep paining him. Still, however, she refused to stop. Aren, her astral planar familiar, had detected the scent of githyanki on the air behind them and even though it had began to get fainter Ny was still worried. They stopped only once for a quick lunch before they were off again, pressing for more lost time.

"We could bait them," Webb suggested. "Put it in the center of the road like a piece of meat, and--"

"Do you really think you can fight the amount that attacked us in West Harbor?" Ny'ren asked lightly, throwing him a look. She bent down to re-lace her boots, pulling them tighter. Webb was about to protest, but she said, "The Fort is only a few more miles away. We'll get food and warm beds there tonight if we move it."

"Agreed," Tasha said. "I would rather not stay out here if we can avoid it."

And that was that. They proceeded in single file, heading now faster than they had before.

---

"I'm hungry," Webb muttered, five more wiles into their extended walk. They had taken an increased tempo, jogging at sometimes, walking at others. These intervals had served to keep Ny's mind sharp and aware of her body and serve to strengthen it, but Webb it seemed had only graduate to knowing what was going on in his stomach.

"Aye," Khelgar said. "I haven't had nothing since that bread back at that disgrace of an inn."

"I'm hungry, too" Ny told them, climbing over a particularly knotted tree trunk. The miles had changed the terrain. Gone were the swampy lands and large forests of her hometown, replaced by rocky hills and green grass. "But we have to keep going."

"I'm not complaining," Webb shot back, obviously offended. "I'm informing you."

"As much as I love your information," Ny said, her voice edging towards a sarcastic drawl, "I can't do anything about it."

Beside her, Tasha continued on as if she wasn't hearing it. Ny'ren just calmed herself down, realizing that arguing with an old bully would do nothing for her but undermine her authority. As they continued on in silence, Ny turned halfway around and said, "We're almost there."

"You're doing just fine, lass," Khelgar told her.

Webb just closed his eyes and shook his head, as if the idea hurt him. Perhaps it did, or perhaps it was just the pain in his chest. Ny made a note to place the shard near him before she went to sleep.

"Wait... be quiet," Ny said in a hushed tone. "I think I heard something."

On cue, every one of the heroes instinctively drew their weapon. Khelgar looked like he may have been a bit more eager to fight than remain hidden so Ny gestured for him to stay put as well.

"I don't hear a th-"

"Shh!" Ny shushed Webb again. The sound was very faint, but it didn't sound like any more githyanki plotting to ambush them. It was rather like someone taking practice strikes on a tightly packed sack of rags and grunting with every punch. Needless to say, on this trail this was unlikely at best. Whatever she was hearing, it was coming from a few yards ahead. Ny signaled the go ahead.

Moving carefully, the four of them continued down the path. By the time the sound had become audible to the others' ears, it had become more apparent to Ny what was happening.

"I swear to Ao, I was just walking out over yonder. This little troublemaker tries to jump me!" she heard one male voice say, almost in a laugh.

"And you decided that the best course of action was to bring her back here instead of reporting to the fort?" asked another, sounding annoyed.

"Well excuse me for wanting to shed some light on the whole situation!"

"BOYS!" a third voice yelled, making the party jump thinking they had been spotted. Nothing happened except the voice going on "Check this urchin's hair!"

In between all the dialogue, Ny though for a second she could hear the faint sounds of someone gasping for air and a small cough or two. The party rounded some rocks and finally were able to take in the scene for themselves.

Across the field in front of them there were four soldiers in chain armor surrounding a tree. And for reasons known only to them, they seemed to have bound what Ny could only assume to be a young woman to the trunk of said tree. The soldiers had their backs turned and seemed very interested in the woman for some reason, crowding closely and obstructing Ny's view.

The third voice spoke again "I don't believe this. They're horns."

"Ha! I knew it. This spike-head has just got to be one of them." the first soldier cackled.

"One of who?" a much higher-pitched voice demanded to know "And who are you calling spike-head? The position of smart man in your platoon must not be yours because as your partner pointed out, these are called horns!"

Ny visibly cringed as the woman received not another word but a fist to the gut from the first soldier. She gasped and coughed, having had the wind knocked completely out of her.

The three larger humanoids were on their knees behind the rock concealing as much as possible, Khelgar wasn't even bending over.

"Something tells me our fearless leader isn't going to let this go." Webb commented scratching his neck and looking to Ny.

"And when did you decide to elect me 'fearless leader'?" Ny shot back quickly "Regardless, we can't just leave her here with these…" another blow landed, cutting Ny off "These brutes."

"Yes, and who is to say they will not try to shut us up for being witnesses?" Tasha chipped in, looking across the field at them "These men are clearly overstepping their bounds and there is only one way through that field."

Across the field the situation was heating up. Now the woman was kicking around and screaming. But she wasn't screaming for help, she was mad and trying to hit the soldier taking shots at her. She only managed to land a light glancing blow on the first soldier's leggings, making him laugh.

"Heh! I thought you demons were stronger than this. You fall from the grace of the gods for the sake of power and yet I managed to subdue you with a single punch." the first soldier boasted.

"Yeah. Now listen, girly, we know you're a member of the thieves messin' around these parts. I suggest you reconsider your loyalties if you wants to live."

"Do I look like one of those bandits? They all dress like idiots! I wouldn't be caught dead with them."

"Okay, so I guess that means a threat of death won't do no good. So how about I dig my knife into your thigh and skin you alive? That oughta loosen your forked tongue."

"Oh you are SUCH an imbecile. Tieflings don't have forked tongues! That's lizardfolk you're thinking of!"

The final remark from the captive woman was followed by a slap across the face followed by a laugh from the soldier. Seeing this final act is what really set Ny off. She jumped to her feet and rushed away from her friends before any of them could stop her.

She didn't want to debate any longer with anybody in her group, especially not Webb or Khelgar as they would clearly object to the troubled woman's apparent demonic heritage. Besides, sympathetic or not, any more talk would just slow them down and endanger the woman more.

Not really knowing what she was getting herself into, she marched straight across the field toward the men who continued to have their fun. "Hey!" she called out, halfway "What do you guys think you're doing to her?"

All at once, the men spun around and readied their swords. Suddenly faced with four men bearing swords, Ny quickly looked over her shoulder to see if the others were coming. They had disappeared.

"And just what do we have here? Looks like a nosy little thief trying to save one of her kin. Maybe there is honor among thieves!" one of the soldiers yelled, stomping forward.

"Hey I'm no bandit, just a concerned citizen. Four men bind a woman to a tree, I take notice." Ny clarified, taking a small step backwards "I want no trouble, just… What has she done to deserve this?"

"This urchin's not worth your time. Merely a member of the local bandits, thought she could put a fast one up on me. We're gonna take her to Fort Locke for interrogation."

At that very moment, Ny heard the rusting of leaves and the snapping of bushes to her left. It sounded like several things were making their way through the brush on a small hill overlooking them.

"Yeah." Another one of the soldiers said menacingly "So if you know what's good for you, just let us do our jobs. Commander Vallis ain't usually too picky when it comes to the bounties on suspicious-looking characters."

"What makes you think I'm so suspicious? I'm nothing but a ranger, just passing through." Ny asked, taking another step back. She kept her hands up where they could see them, hopefully distracting them from what she was really planning on doing.

These guys were wearing armor and to them she probably wasn't worth the effort, so she got ready to run past them and across the field. If she was quick and lucky enough, Ny decided, maybe she would be able to cut one of the ropes up enough to loosen it all and let the woman escape. After all it was pretty thin rope, there was just a lot of it tightly wrapped to the tree. She subtly positioned her feet in a more strategic fashion and prepared to make a break for it.

_You can do this, Ny. _She thought, her mind turning to drawing her knife _Just visualize drawing it. You've done this a thousand times, it's just on the move._

The fourth soldier closest to the tree who had been silent finally spoke up "I don't like this one. You ask me, she is suspicious. Let's take them both to the commander a- UGH!" The man was suddenly gut-kicked so hard he was doubled over gasping for air. While he bent forward a second sound blow to the back of his head knocked him out cold.

"HA!" the small but obviously capable tiefling girl cried out "Never underestimate a girl with a razor in her back pocket! Especially not a 'spike-headed' one!"

The soldiers didn't even bother to make more remarks after that. They all drew their swords and started swinging at both the tiefling and Ny. Ny just managed to avoid getting hit by one of the sword blows and she quickly drew her own and began to engage the soldier who had discovered the horns.

The tiefling, however, just flowed around the swings like she was seeing them in slow motion. She reached down, mid-dodge, and picked up the fallen soldier's short sword. Without wasting a moment, she maneuvered herself around another swing from one soldier and used the momentum from a thrust against the soldier who had discovered her.

The sadistic soldier didn't have time to react and found the blade rushing toward his throat and running him through. All he could do was gurgle and choke before he hit the ground.

Just as the tiefling pulled the blade from his comrade, the second soldier got frantic and started swinging at her, all the while screaming something along the lines of "You killed Malden! Ungodly fiendling, you go to the Hells!" only much more incoherent and vulgar.

He swung wildly at her from side to side, making her slide backwards and dodge. When he swung at her from overhead, however, she blocked it and released her sword with one hand and punched him in the face. The hit gave the tiefling enough time to swoop in, grab his sword hand and bind his feet together with her prehensile tail. The soldier hit the ground and found a sword at his throat with the smiling demon girl on the other side of it.

The last soldier saw this and abandoned his fight with Ny. He ran in the opposite direction to try and save his skin, but wound up running into the extended point of Tasha's rapier and almost impaling himself on it. Looking around at the wide variety of adventurers he was suddenly faced with, a confounded look appeared on his face.

"You really aren't part of the bandits... Are you?" he asked Tasha, who shook her head without a sound, looking directly at him with a stern look on her face. Just then she slightly raised and drew her rapier back from its position at his throat and held it in anticipation, as if to drive it through his throat...

She purposely missed his face with the point, however, and punched him unconscious with the hand guard.


End file.
